A seed comes forth and falls to the floor,
the process of life we’ve all seen before.
out pops a stem, a tiny leaf,
up grows the shoot, forming a tree.
With beginnings so fragile, it aims for the sun
it drinks in the warmth, the shadows, it shuns.
with each passing day, and through all the seasons
this tree gives forth effort, nature unbeaten.
days to weeks, months to years
Giving its shade or the sweet song of the leaves as they shiver.
twisting and turning, roots ever reaching
climbing, never stopping, its soft canopy increasing.
the bark is all twisted, and gnarled with time
it has been through carvings, and climbings, many hide and seek findings,
seen lovers and haters and history in the making.
silently observing, still ever reaching;
that bark is old and twisted, gnarled with time,
that bark is like mine.
thick skinned through experience but still so full of life;
so much more to live through, so much more to see
it’s the journey in the making.
that’s why I call it The Winding Tree.