The Tiny Tree in The Forest of Fairies
Once there was a tiny tree,
A sapling almost,
Fragile and flexible,
With only two or three leaves.
In the forest where it grew,
Lived natural forces,
Born by a trick of the light,
Placing purpose in the eyes of you.
The tree enjoyed life surrounding,
Many voices and noises,
Splendid wings and pattering footsteps,
For too aware the deciduous grounding.
As seasons waved like the tides,
Drawing water and mineral,
Carving experiences and natural order,
The meek took on this persistence of life.
Growth was marked as a marriage,
Of the essence and the form,
What was brought within,
Has become a formation of this carriage.
The winged ones and magical things,
Admired the tree in its height,
With cause for attachment to joy,
A love created bonded beings.
Yet so chapters were turned,
The sun rolled in the sky,
Again the snowfall buried its fallen leaves,
The tree felt and yearned.
It knew the forest had supported it well,
Provided shelter,
Given light and nourishment,
Company was the foundation it wanted to tell.
As it felt out to inform the life's love,
Gone were the little things,
With their tiny wings and footsteps
The eyes now far high above.
No more involved in the matters below,
The canopy of the ceiling,
A steadfast position,
All of a sudden the tree felt alone.
Sitting in quiet solitude,
Aware of the wind,
Stable and eternal,
In the moment of fortitude,
A small echo reverberated within,
Sensing a presence,
An inner formation,
The mighty tree sat and listened.
Switching off the bantering sounds,
From the wind in the leaves,
The bickering trees,
A quiet knowing of life it found.
And at once in revelation,
It was clear that inside,
A tiny town of life,
The most loved and adoring sensation,
All the memories of unity,
The mystical forces personified,
Magical things with colour,
Had resided within as a community,
Sprites and spiritual force,
A magical array,
Beings of pre-material action,
Had made the tree their house.
Rowan Blair Colver
Once there was a tiny tree,
A sapling almost,
Fragile and flexible,
With only two or three leaves.
In the forest where it grew,
Lived natural forces,
Born by a trick of the light,
Placing purpose in the eyes of you.
The tree enjoyed life surrounding,
Many voices and noises,
Splendid wings and pattering footsteps,
For too aware the deciduous grounding.
As seasons waved like the tides,
Drawing water and mineral,
Carving experiences and natural order,
The meek took on this persistence of life.
Growth was marked as a marriage,
Of the essence and the form,
What was brought within,
Has become a formation of this carriage.
The winged ones and magical things,
Admired the tree in its height,
With cause for attachment to joy,
A love created bonded beings.
Yet so chapters were turned,
The sun rolled in the sky,
Again the snowfall buried its fallen leaves,
The tree felt and yearned.
It knew the forest had supported it well,
Provided shelter,
Given light and nourishment,
Company was the foundation it wanted to tell.
As it felt out to inform the life's love,
Gone were the little things,
With their tiny wings and footsteps
The eyes now far high above.
No more involved in the matters below,
The canopy of the ceiling,
A steadfast position,
All of a sudden the tree felt alone.
Sitting in quiet solitude,
Aware of the wind,
Stable and eternal,
In the moment of fortitude,
A small echo reverberated within,
Sensing a presence,
An inner formation,
The mighty tree sat and listened.
Switching off the bantering sounds,
From the wind in the leaves,
The bickering trees,
A quiet knowing of life it found.
And at once in revelation,
It was clear that inside,
A tiny town of life,
The most loved and adoring sensation,
All the memories of unity,
The mystical forces personified,
Magical things with colour,
Had resided within as a community,
Sprites and spiritual force,
A magical array,
Beings of pre-material action,
Had made the tree their house.
Rowan Blair Colver
