At the top of a hill in a land far away,
stands a seedling alone; its leaves quietly sway.

It has nowhere to hide from the blistering sun;
there's no shield from the winds that frequently run.
Empty land – there isn't a bush nor a tree nearby.
It grows there all alone, but it is getting by...

On the nights full of rain and frightening lightning,
through a quiver of fear, it would stay there fighting:
"I want one day to grow to a big, mighty tree
with a trunk wide and strong that no wind could bend me!"
Its small roots would absorb murky water from storms
and by morning it smiles as a new leaf bud forms.

Leaf by leaf, day by day, this small seedling gets bigger.
Twig by twig, year by year; to grow large it is eager.

On occasion it would get a visit or two:
cheerful birds from the sky would come down to say Hi,
and a fluffy white rabbit would drop by, out of habit;
friendly ants, butterflies, and at night fireflies—
all would merrily chatter but too soon all would scatter.

With a smile, the seedling would request them to stay
but would always hear back: "I must be on my way!"
One day, curious, it asked: "On your way, where to?"
"To the woods down the hill, full of trees just like you!"
"Full of trees just like me..." no one heard it whisper
rustling leaves, as the air around it got crisper.

Leaf by leaf, day by day, it still grows but looks small.
Twig by twig, year by year; it's alone, after all.

Having grown tall enough, the seedling now sees it—
past the field down the hill—the one place all birds visit:
a majestic forest stretching wide—a green sea!
—with tall pines, mighty oaks, and other grown trees.

What a beautiful sight! It just can't turn away!
Wishes strongly the seedling, to be there one day.
It dreams of gentle sounds running through the lush crowns,
of the comforting shade that the woods surely make.
Stretching branches—now long!—
wishes it to belong...

Leaf by leaf, day by day, cries the seedling...
"Unfair!"
Twig by twig, year by year;
"Why do I grow out here?"

Very lonely, the seedling remains on the hill,
casting shadows dark, broad, keeping leaves very still.
Hoping that through the years, it will stop being sad,
and will once again notice that this place isn't bad.

It is there for a reason not easily seen:
for the birds and rabbits, it's a sheltering tree.
When they stop to say Hi, coming down from the sky,
they are looking for shelter from a summer day's swelter
or a comforting shoulder on the days that are colder.

Leaf by leaf, day by day, now an oak, it's grown tall.
Twig by twig, year by year; it's alright, after all.

On a very nice day, after cold driving rain,
in the grass, not too far, it saw something bizarre—
the sight so peculiar and oddly familiar—
a seedling so tiny it looked almost funny!

But the sun was hot—scorching, to the seedling's misfortune.
And the leaves were trembling, their form too much resembling
of the oak's lonely past. Stretching branches, lush, vast,
it protected the youngling that was, clearly, struggling.
In the comforting shade, it could stay unafraid.
                                              *
At the top of a hill in a land far away,
grow a seedling and oak; their leaves quietly sway.