Thursday, June 30, 2011

The Seed

A seed in the air,
Flowing with the wind,
A sudden stop
A four-foot drop

Idle in the dirt
Stepped on, still
Deep in the wood,
Isn`t going good

A thunderstorm,
Mud slides over it
In two days, comes out
A minuscule green sprout

Sunny days, so warm
Dirt replaces mud,
A leaf, a bud

A forest drizzle,
 Forest nourished
Dirt to mud,
 Flower replaces bud

Sunny rain
 A solid rainbow arches over
A delicate seedling now
To the wind, it bows,

Drizzles, thunderstorms,
 The patterns flow,
 A century goes

The grandchildren of those
Who stepped on it`s seed,
Climb it,
Pick juicy mangoes, and gobble every bit

Loud, ugly, dangerous machines
Dreadfully cut it
The children sob on,
For their great tree is gone

The stump lies sturdy
Ready to rot
One hundred rings, one hundred years
Parents still can`t stop the tears

The tree is chopped in a factory 
Formed later
To countless papers

Paper used for books,
Printing, drawing, and more
All on the same day,
The papers were thrown away

By a coincedence,
They were in the same town,
Dumped by the same truck,
On top of some disgusting muck

 This was  the same place where 
The tree had grown up, starting as a tiny seed,
Surviving each heat wave, storm, and weed

But man came and killed it,
And you can`t reverse that
We use trees to breathe,
So save them, please

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