Brian Laidlaw

Poet | Songwriter | Educator

Sapling

 

Your seed did land in stone

But you did not care

You were young and strong

And knew that you could sprout there

You were like a hopeful hand

Reaching into the air

 

It’s good to be a sapling

It’s good to grow into something

 

There was not much soil

For you to live off

There were only needles

Decayed bark and pine slough

There was hardly anything

And still it was enough

 

There were hymns

In your limbs

Through your fingers delicate and slim

Like a hand whistle played by the wind

 

When I had to leave,

I could not defend you

But there is no accounting

For the things that men do

When I was a-traveling

They chose to chop and upend you

 

It’s hard to be a sapling

It’s hard to grow into anything

 

The world is even harder

Than the granite promised

Your stump sticks from the stone

Like a severed wrist

It’s hard to be a sapling

And friend, you will be missed

 

It’s hard to grow in a world like this

 

But in the dreams I dream

You are a tall pine

Your song is in my hands

Your strength is my spine

 

Your melody is in my hands

Your memory’s on my mind

 

There were hymns

In your limbs

Through your fingers delicate and slim

Like a hand whistle played by the wind

 

It’s good to be a sapling

It’s hard to be a sapling

But you’ve got to grow into something