The Mountain's Tree
By A. L. Griffy
By A. L. Griffy
How small is a seed planted,
But where it is placed, new life is granted.
Its perspective is one of darkness and doubt,
Growing with water, breaking it with clout.
It turns and tumbles in the crevice it's hid.
A moment's slim light from above, it does bid.
Day after day, it remains in the dark,
Surrounded by stone, its circumstance is stark.
Past the stone, the sprout seeks the light.
Taking what its handed while remaining in plight,
Until it emerges and is given limited sight.
It’s destined to grow in a valley of deep stone,
With wonder, it looks to see if it’s alone.
There are others nearby, that much is true.
Will they remain when the sky is no longer blue?
The crisis comes, and the torrent does pour,
The wind and rain tear with a fervent ardor.
The sprout is whipped and bent,
As the hurricane passes to where it’s been sent.
The little sprout in the morning, now bereft,
For in the clear light, it is the only one left,
Still securely planted in that hard, stony cleft.
The weeks pass into months and then into years,
The sprout becomes a sapling, through the storms and the tears.
Though the storms never seem as bad as that first,
For the water they gave, quenched the tree’s ever thirst.
Each passing year still growing tall,
Seeking the light for it’s all in all.
Then comes a fire, a blaze to prune.
Can this be good, a consuming boon?
The tree gave such a groan.
It did not understand, its purpose unknown.
Here was the reason for which it was sown:
To bear fruit from which others may feed,
Which carries along that wonderful seed.
They constantly took from that single tree,
Their purpose was clear, that much it could see:
They could produce no fruit of their own,
But to carry the seed, given and thrown.
They each played their part quite well,
And many came to the tree to faithfully dwell.
The tree also changed, with a perspective anew,
For the valley was a small cleft on the rock where it grew,
and that rock, a mountain, graciously given with a beautiful view.