The trees sway
flowing loosely
where the wind carries them

I dig my feet in against the gale
till it snaps me asunder

So I land
like a dead leaf
or an acorn

ready to rot,
or to germinate.
What would you do

if they were your only choices?
Would you nourish the compost heap
or become the oak tree?

Even if
the getting there
was slow.

Eileen Neil

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