As the wind begins to bluster
we watch that tattered tree.
It's grown to mean so much to us
we planted it....you and me.
Today the wind seems brutal
as we watch our young tree bend.
Our fear is that it's just too weak.
Don't let this be the end.
In horror we just watch it
while it nearly bends in half.
We hear it creak (or is it cry) .
And through our nerves we laugh.
To our suprise it stands tall.
It's weathered one more day.
It may be slightly curved now
but that curve will go away.
We get to watch our young tree
grow to wondrous heights.
In life this also happens
but do we recognize the sights.
Mary Nagy
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/watching-our-young-tree/
