Abandoned on a tree trunk stump,
alone with aromatic funk.
Await to go out, skip, and jump,
the days that pass erase all spunk.
Profound hollowness deep within,
debate on what new days will bring.
Never to feel feet, socks, or skin,
questions are sprung as nature clings.
Sun dries up dirt that turns to dust,
soon forrest rain transforms to mud.
Inside feel life grow with full trust,
excitement rises with each bud.
Repurposed from unwanted boots,
strength that cascades midnight’s dew.
Guardian of free spirited roots,
with a great purpose built anew.
– Grace Y. Estevez Reddy