Poem: 'Sapling'

 by Oscar Mellers

On a ripening morning o’er the dawning light,

My eyes do wander around the warming gardens,

And fall as the dew does, upon the single sapling,

Resting at the edge of the orchard.

Surrounded by his superiors, his growth feels almost pressured,

His life shortened under the weight of branches to fill.

As he matures, he will realise that he preferred his tranquil adolescence;

It was a time for rest, with no concerns of the Death soon to come.

Grasping the ground as he grows,

Avoiding damage from storms and hurricanes,

He will hold steadfast,

Growing from sapling to adolescent to full-grown to mature.

As he approaches the final exit,

He will start to ponder the eventualities of his death and what is to come,

Yet he cannot fathom his dying corpse, 

Laying untouched and discarded by humanity.

Of course for him- and although he doesn’t realise it - he should rejoice in dying.

His body will soak into the rich Earth and fuel the generations to come,

And despite his disbelief, he will procure a new steadfast home:

In the core bough of his children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

As his existence ebbs and flows through fresh generations,

He can only will that they will heed his advice,

Of staying as young as possible for as many years as possible,

Discarding, as humanity did, the thoughts of your elders.

And it unfolds like that:

Earth to earth,

Ashes to ashes,

Dust to dust.

And beneath a closing evening under the dusk half-light,

My eyes do wander around the darkening gardens,

And fall as the dew did, upon that single sapling,

Trying to rest, on the edge of the orchard.