Chronicle of a Tree

The little seed beneath the ground
Broke out its hardened shell.
It sent out feelers all around,
And thrust out roots as well.

Months passed by until at last
It gained a solid root.
Nearly one twelvemonth had passed
‘Ere it produced a shoot.

The little shoot so small and green
Blinked blindly in the sun,
And far beneath the ground unseen
The roots were having fun.

Summer, autumn, winter, spring,
The seasons came in order,
The little shoot began to sing
Along the forest border.

Its soft green flesh turned into bark,
Its newness vanished wholly,
Happy in the forest park
It grew some twiglets slowly.

Years they came and years passed by
The tree grew higher and higher,
Gazing always at the sky,
To which it did aspire.

It put on weight, its girth grew round,
Its bark grew hard and roughened,
A hundred feet from top to ground,
Its branches thick and toughened.

And now it was a mighty tree
That towered above the woodland,
Surveying all its territory,
Pronouncing it as good land.

And then it ran right out of luck,
The chainsaws buzzed elation.
Its wood was made into a book
On wildlife preservation.