The Seed, discarded by a bird, found niche in rough-hewn brick;
Alone, despised, forsaken, her tears made footing stick
As softened by the salty stream, one root-tip found a home;
Cinder was Seed’s resting place, and mortar her first loam.
Root fought hard to worm her path through nerves of stone-work steel;
Rain’s torrential fists repelled with blows that made her reel.
Wind and sun both joined the feud, assaulting her in turn;
One tried to wrench Root’s tender growth, one sought to levy burn,
But Root resisted, holding fast, and sent up her first Shoot;
Shoot bore Stem, and Stem bore Leaf, in fair green birthday suit.
Mortar lent no healthy fare, so Leaf produced her own;
Photosynthesizing bread, to add green flesh to bone.
Now she boldly clings to brick, when rain makes mortar mud;
She knows that next in line to come is tender flower-bud…