Little seedling,
upon your rocky shores,
do you drift,
and land,
so close to the waters that cannot quench you,
no soil in which you stand,
Oh little seedling,
filled with life,
a stone’s throw from the tide,
and so your living hours,
only can you watch,
and to your self abide.
The gentle zephyrs mock you,
the ants below pass by,
a hopeful bit of florae,
that cannot walk or fly,
so here you lay most quietly,
upon the great divide,
of rocky shoal,
and creeping surf,
having bravely died.
.Red
