'Foghorn Leghorn' approximately 10 years old, 2 feet tall
A proud hopeful twig,
A mighty little sprig,
reaches, stretches, grasping for sky-light,
drinking the coastal fog and dew from overnight.
Wise wee wooded sapling,
on your branches birds will sing,
and you will carry their tune,
on timber and echoes-yet not so soon.
Longevity like oozes sap, as the blood in ones vein;
through aortic roots, a statuesque feign-
except for the unmistakable air,
climbing higher than one could dare.
Rings notching decades like days,
breathless moments and canopy sways,
fall like whispers, awe around your burly base,
bursting to the Heavens, you continue to race.
Already you have your bark
eager and preparing to make your mark.
You have been called “Giants among Men”
forests and wilderness from way back when…
Thousands of years, all that you've seen,
optimistically each year peeling virgin green.
A giant sequoia, a prehistoric tree,
Sempre virens, stoically notching eternity.
One day little tree, you will go in the ground,
in a place I’ll make sure is safe and sound.
But for now-
I wish I could say how,
I want you to get really BIG-
and show you are no longer a twig!
I do love watching you grow, forgetting how slow;
and despite the fact that I will never really know,
get to breathe your nectar air-or live to see,
just how big you'll really be.
Photo By Ngresonance at en.wikipedia [Public domain], from Wikimedia Commons
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