tender little plant,
you weep and sway with the bluster of a wind.
and when night falls,
you clench your shivering petals,
wishing the sun would kiss you once again,

and while dreaming, aching for that safe warmth,
you withstand
the dark, cold air,
long empty silence,
and the relentless clattering of raindrops.

remember,
frightened little plant,
that morning will rise.

your proud green leaflets will soak up the blooming sunlight,
and churn the elements into a life-force.

you are a powerhouse.

the bright warm atmosphere
seeps
deep
into your lungs,
and fills you,
pouring into your spine, your fragile stem,
collecting
into your baby-hair roots,
soft and thin, as they hug the cold, callous soil
that encapsulates you.

sometimes, you are to be painfully lonely.

remember,
brave little plant,
that it takes patience to become a tree.