The Forest is endless
Limited only by question
Of course

There is no true order
Except for social classes
The great oaks
Only great for their size
The modest sapling
Only modest for their youth

I am a sapling again
Fragile though quick in growth
Delicate though flexible in gust

Seeded from the fatigued ash
Or the pallid silver skinned birch
Or the robustly deathly yew
Does it really mater
Where I seed from

Not to the forest
Not to the sapling
Who finds the comfort
Of a mothers breast
In any great trees’
Storm breaking shade

I crane my head
Admiring the great roof
That they have made together
Like womb around child

Until I grow old
And they older
The oak falls
And I take its place

The sapling does not notice
Change, because it is part
The forest will change
Not dictated by the great oak
But by the young sapling

The Forest is endless
Limited only by question
Of course