A wayward branch; stark and repulsive,

A matter of contempt, left alone to wither away.

Can it withstand the whipping of nature?

But it does with poise,

Because within the hollow, it homes a tiny sapling,

A sight for all to see.

In a manner so eloquent and grandeur; in an otherwise abutting neighbourhood,

That in its end, it allows a life to propel from the seeds,

Sown by the wind and nurtured by the moist earth.

The sapling in turn promises,

Come spring and I will blossom,

And I bring abundance to the source – the fallen branch,

Because tomorrow, the sun might not cast its rays on the branch,

But, I shall soothe it with my shadows,

For now, its task is done.

Because for now, the branch should rest and I shall blossom.