As I branched out into the world,
I found my own poet’s tree.
Beneath its leaves, I slept,
and as they fell upon my head,
they woke me from my dream.
I lay there restlessly,
wondering about Autumn’s end—
realizing it is Spring now.
What happened between now and then?
I let time slip by so carelessly.
I let the world pass me by
and couldn’t help but wonder why.
Each day, another olive branch grew,
but I ignored it, walking past—
thinking I had all the time in the world,
only to watch it fly by
so very, very fast.
No birds sang to wake me.
Their cries were silent
as they let me dream.
At times, I wish they had called for me.
I would have woken right away.
But I’d never ask
if they did not wish to—
for I valued my time
above necessity.
And if they simply ignored me,
then they were never meant for me.
I woke exactly when I was meant to,
on my own, without their songs.
With my wings, I flew—
and found a nest
that truly cared.