The children were born into trees.
Not at the roots, where their
Ancestors are buried, absorbing
Nutrients from the soil. The children
Are not at the trunk, where their
Parents provide sturdy beams
Of support. The children are not
In the leaves either; the leaves
Do not even exist. Buds haven’t
Formed on the tips of the plant.
The children grew into branches,
The limbs of these great redwoods
And resilient oaks, stretching skyward
While the world below them yawns.
A. J. Hayes
Give a poet a pen