The mother tree

​

Each needle

one of a million daughters

shed by the mother tree

over and over

she makes a new

and sure enough

every year

lets gravity return them to the ground

There to fall again

in to become

the soft spongy soil

underfoot

​

To feed her

or to feed those who feed her -

the my-ce-lium

who from one object

forge a new substance

on which she is only to be made again

​

The forest is floored with these

children, offspring

sprung

springy to the step

they jump scamper and scatter

their mother watching

with no concern

for the fall to come