The journey begins with a lonely seed,
As the clock turns, so will the shifty wind,
Bringing forth everlasting hateful foes,
One may only reach surface with downpour,
To rise is to wilt, they cannot stand lone,
A clear chute must pair with a golden ray,
A leaf will sprout but live only briefly,
For every green will transform into brown,
While bare skin will leave you vulnerable,
All that you can do is hold your deep breath,
It eternally feels safe, but its not,
The wind and the life around you destroy,
Struggling to battle internally,
Like sea foam to a sailboats weakened stern,
Shattered as glass beneath a swift hammer,
Bark is devastated once and again,
As the day arrives, the leaves will crumble,
Woodpeckers and quick hummingbirds alike,
Will use your aging limbs at their own will,
They will plummet to the hard endless stage,
Bouncing, splitting, rolling, and crumbling,
The long horrendous day of your demise,
By the word “Timber,” and an edged hatchet,
By detonation, or a lightning bolt,
Sinking into the miserable ground,
Gravity clinches your side forever,
As you fall further than ever before.