Angophora

Soft like the rain,
as wide as a train.
Raising higher, 
than any old bush fire.
Growing is my nature,
with flowers as white as paper.
Another step,
into the depth.
Of an underestimated beginning ,
that's just sitting there waiting.
In this world,
surviving once is not enough.
So I must just take a breath,
not of air,
but water.
In my roots they go,
Down in the ground they must flow.
I can only imagine what must happen,
for I must sink in the end.
So I can shine,
prospore and live free.