From what place in the forest did your tender bud bloom,

The birch, the ash, the maple tree's womb?

From what slender branch did your mother give birth?

From what height did you emerge a new son of the earth?

Your soft green skin unfurled to the wind,

To capture the sun which way did you bend?

What shadows did you cast to cool and to shelter,

To comfort weary travelers from summer's great swelter?

What storms did you weather that burned, bit, or blew?

That taught you to love from a new point of view.

What note did you play in the great forest symphony?

When the Maestro of Autumn set your heart trembling,

and you took to the sky, like the birds you'd been wooing,

and embracing the air to dance your undoing.

Did anyone see your moment of glory? Or know that your heart was so brave?

When you landed on a soft bed, a rock, or a watery grave?

Does it matter? Does it matter?

Must we endlessly reason and flatter?

Isn't it enough? Isn't it enough?

Just to have lived?

by K. A. Shows