For many years we were planted in this soil together.
We grew from seeds to saplings, our roots entangled.
Now there are thick forests separating us,
and I have been replanted into such foreign ground.
Sporadically I catch your leaves on a gust of wind.
They tell of how you are no longer a young seedling.
They tell of  how you are thriving in our soil,
even with my roots no longer intertwined into yours.

We have learned to blossom in our own earth.
And someday we will become only stumps of what we once were.
We will no longer flourish with fruits and flowers on our branches.
But my roots will still know yours,
and they will remember where they were once interlaced in our beginnings.