Anyway, I digress. This tiny orphan began life in my wife’s flower bed and almost ended before he got going. A little rock wall went around a tiny cedar tree smaller than my thumbnail. Once protected, the little booger took off and, for years, grew until one day, some fungus tore him up. Birds quit nesting in his branches, flying off to sing somewhere else. It was sad to watch my orphan die, but like everything else in life, there is a season; to live, to die. This season for my tree is for living, and this is that story.

MY DEAD TREE

A volunteer sprout came out of nowhere,

Tiny seedling, barely big enough to see.

Surrounded with rocks, saved from weed-eater,

Given chance to live, not become dead tree.

An inch, another six, then reached a foot,

Still squirt rocked on, plant had a growing spree,

Put up a fence to keep the baby safe,

Plus, electric wire, all critters left him be.

Second, then third-year passed, stretched to four feet,

That cedar somehow became not quite so wee.

Wild birds nestled within its bristly arms,

Trills through branches, condo life their destiny.

Year five, sick, gray needles drop, death painful,

No more wildlife God placed there all for me.

And more than once considered cutting down,

What had started out in life so humbly.



Then, lifeless orphan became spotted with green,

Through brittle gray, new foliage began weakly.

Woody charge now covered in large verdant clumps,

Reborn by nature, my healthy small dead tree.