The diminutive seedling,
It putters whilst growing
Becoming a robust bark but with decaying leaves
Life then begins to sprout and weaves

We are the seedling, planted in this very soil we stand
We were the sprout of yesterday
But in time shall be tomorrow’s shade
We must be mature but not staid

We then putter over the early years
Ignorance and dreams then arouses
We then become filled with ambitions and fears
Our bodies are then trained

In conditions with heavy winds and rain
Like the bark, resilient and vigorous
Autumn then comes
Leaves begin to fall and wither

Like our worries are untethered
Yet of all, we must not truncate our branches
We must embellish them instead
We must be strong like the Hemlock!

Winter then follows both the sky and land
Becomes tedious and bland  
Problems then arises but shrouded in the mist
Hazy, vague only to catch a glimpse

But warm tears can melt through
The cold and burdened shoulder,
The storm settles and clouds become mild
The vernal breeze then calms our mind

As we continue to grow,
We find ourselves dazed and entwined
Nonetheless we cannot putter for we are a Hemlock!
We stand tall, and keep our roots intact

Summer comes forth, with warmth and life
Radiance into the leaves,
Free birds that chirp with ease

Our leaves which are crammed with wisdom
Our cones that tells our story
Our barks that had endured the calamity
Our roots that stayed firm regardless the intensity

We had all the fun, laughs and sorrow
We were sprouts but it is our time to sow
We are the young and into the hemlock we shall grow!