It's just started, so hard to say.
Seed to sprout, a waking baby.
When does a tree reach perfection?
I wonder if we'll see.
Our sapling! Now it's branching out!
Discard the pot - plant it there.
There's space to grow. Sun to drink.
Time watches it with care.
Turn your back; you will be surprised.
The season of rain did it well.
A little weathered, but sturdy now.
Near perfect; I can tell.
Years go by; it's taking up space.
"Remove that branch - it's in my face!"
"I thought it'd flower. Guess I was wrong."
What's stopping the tree's grace?
Majestic - its static movement.
Seasons marking annual rings.
We, only in mindful pauses.
Hear its perfection sing.
If trees had ears, would they listen?
Or try to mold themselves to us?
How tragic of a thought is that-
Disrupt its existence.
It has no mouth, no eyes, no mind.
But it's still articulating
Jubilation; swaying wind.
Branches celebrating.
Do trees ever reach perfection?
Yeah, I'd probably argue so
From now's perfect to the next. Yes.
Flawless from once-flawed? No
Now 25 rings of my own,
Still learning the life of a tree.
Sinking into my 'perfection.'
Happy birthday to me.
*Inspired by Ryūka - a genre of songs and poetry originating from the Okinawa Islands, usually featuring an 8-8-8-6 syllable structure.
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