Seedling

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I can’t do anything

I haven’t grown into.

All my life I’ve been growing

And though it’s now slowing,

I still build on yesterday’s growth.

The grover must prune

Snip, cut and fine-tune,

He fosters the growth he wants to see.

I feel like that is just like me.

I direct my own growth.

Wind, bugs, birds and rain,

Many things uncontained;

The environment is a key part

For all trees, right from the start.

Nature and nurture as one.

I look up and I see

A sky full of leaves.

The trees I can understand –

Not frantic, not sad, unlike man.

As if I and the trees were one.

We both spread our branches,

Slowly taking our chances,

Deliberately stretching our reach,

Failures and losses just teach

That we should never stop trying.

We have no actual choice,

Our Life, our Growth is our Voice;

Our very Existence, our Art.

And though few can reach to our heart,

There will always be those who are vying.

Over the years may we find

Others who are of like mind.

The truth may begin to show

The Good Ones, who also grow

They Live, and don’t fret over Dying.

After weathering so many winters,

We should learn to forget the splinters,

And focus on only one thing:

Finding others who love to sing

The old song of growth that just We know.

Perhaps if we intertwine

Our branches with those few divine

Souls that also reach for the sky,

Together, we can learn how to fly,

While rooting down ever further below.

NB


All words, works, writings, photos, and art contained on this blog are the creation and sole intellectual property of Nicholas Biddle. They may not be used or reproduced in any way without the express consent of the author, and proper (legal) credit given to the author.


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