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