Sylvan Sprig



A piece of brevity on spring.


                      Birthed by the most ancient and wise of years
                it was ferried in the bassinet of wind's caring clasp,
                     to rest in the careworn lines of a fallen uncle
                     and of nourishment take in his eruditious soil
                     Through cloud and gale and warmth of night
                  he perseveres and weathers each atrabilous eve,
                          to rise to the heavens with verdant arms
              setting down his rooted feet in prudence of the past
                         For to the knowledge of the dawns light
                             he must seek the canopy to break,
                        and in the shaded arms of his native kin
         he holds the earth and binds it to the luminescence above.

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