The trees sway
flowing loosely
where the wind carries them
Me,
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