The Oak
This little plant standing and wondering Wondering what will become of it Will it grow tall and sturdy to be an oak Or will it wilt and wither as the seasons go Will there be someone to care for it Love it, water it and nourish it Or will it be left alone , battling its fears all by itself Passers by see this plant And they always say Oh this will be a mighty oak someday But they don't know that this little one Barely knows if it will last the day It's afraid to stretch out its little branches For fear that they may topple its delicate balance This little oak, fighting the weather Fighting to be what it feels it is meant to be I hope it grows, I hope it does This little oak all by itself..