Little Sapling

Little sapling, young leaves swaying,

Alone atop a hill.

Delicate branches merely grown,

Bleached wood, as white as a bone.

Rustle, swish, crackle, snap,

A little bird settles in the tree for a map.

Roots strengthen, limbs reach higher,

The green of gum leaves becomes lighter.

The wind sings a song, one with the young tree,

Of boundless skies and endless glee.

Through hail and sleet, thunder and lightning,

The now older tree keeps on fighting.

Wind-kissed bark peels and rots,

Branches twist higher, tied in knots,

Once young wood sighs in the breeze, 

Little sapling now old and at ease.

A smear of green, orange and yellow paints the sky,

The great tree now reaching up high.

To this day, a melody is still sung that the wind brings,

Forever eternal, the little sapling sings.