short and thin, bending
to the wind. My head is
close to the ground. Green
as the grass I live in a tight

circle mound. Bigger than
a seedling, but not wholly
sprung. I'm just a pearl
that has yet to be

strung. No flowers
or fruit hang from my
branches. But I can grow
as big as an old farmer's

ranch is. If the cornflower
sky sprinkled me with a misty
kiss and the buttered *** sun
danced on my leaves I'd promise

you this. I'd rise to heights
tall as the mountains,
having an eagle build an
aerie on my branches. Spying

an eaglet scratch her way to the
the outside world from inside an egg
is joy. I cannot be cloyed by nature's
excess. To me, it only loosens the stress.