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Rated: E | Poetry | Nature | #1681169
There is strength in survival, and often humility.
A young and slender maple tree
sprouts from the leafy ground;
a larger tree that lost its grip
now bends the maple down.

No longer does it face the sun
nor eye the night with pride;
it arches back into the earth
and stretches out its side.

The little tree was in the way
when time allowed the fall;
the top is pinned by larger wood,
no longer straight and tall.

The tree, however, summons life:
what's down is dry and dead;
a little tree beset with strife
lives on and bows its head.


[Rhythm: 8-6-8-6] (Lines: 16)
© Copyright 2010 Teargen (UN: teargen at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Teargen has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
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