I found a felled tree laying down the hill -
Its roots exposed, green lingered still -
I wondered then how come
It persisted thus though undone.
I pondered a while at the oak, now laid low,
And questioned as to why it persevered so,
Its trunk on the ground, leaves in the grass,
Persisting in spite of what had passed.
Though consigned to a fate so unfit,
For months beyond, still green persists -
The fallen oak, slowly fading to brown,
Never once admitting its place on the ground.
Now on the path lays a log by the way,
Hollowing, rotting, decomposing each day.
But scattered round through soil peeking through,
Saplings come out, bringing life once anew.