Laterally lying low and long
With his crown upon the ground,
Was there a witness to hear his song,
Or was he silently found?
Appearing gently laid,
Was he beckoned or was he swayed?
Surrounding him they stand,
Rooted along the trickling creek,
Brethren in soil remanded,
No bite to their bark and no sound to their speak.
Leaves leave whispers riddled in rustle
To the cacophonous sound of nature’s hustle.
His twisted trunk and his timber flesh,
Supported and sprouted his last spore.
Without nutrients to nurture them fresh,
Seasons shall he fair no more.
Nearby lies another fallen friend of the forest,
Were their collapsing crashes chorused?
Heaved from the earth,
Ancestral roots now sowed in sodded soil
Along the shore of the firth.
Amid teeming threats he toils;
A seeded seedling symbolizes hope,
Above the parapet like a peaking periscope.
Arching towards the suns sweet kiss,
Can he see through the verdant canopy?
Between bowing boughs a glimpse for photosynthesis
Means a surging sapling can become a tree.
Will he flounder in a foundation sodden,
Or by a hikers boot be trodden?
Stemming from his thinly stem, his chances slim,
Will he stand where no other has before?
With the upward journey set to begin
Has he been happened upon by a herbivore?
Would he survive the tasting trauma
Brought about by such feeding fauna?
From decaying debris and decomposition
He may grow up to be tall;
A tremendous towering exhibition.
Or, like his father, he might be felled or fall.
Whether he survives is up to weather and time,
All just chance; no reason or rhyme.
Such odds will he have to overcome
And great perils against strive,
So that to the competition he does not succumb.
Will he perish or will he thrive?
Still I dream and still I wonder,
Rooting for him in my slumber.