The Sapling So long we waited And the time is here At last A southern wind has blown The sapling from the vast and distant shore And has returned it full and grown Home to its root once more The soil rejoices as it feels the quiver of his tread The soil where once he fed Which bled when long ago the little seed took flight And had to fight to grow in foreign land And learn to understand another way But for today The sapling will drink thirstily and long And for today he’ll grow Where he belongs
More than one hundred lifetimes later and like the alley cat, back on my feet. "Who are you" I ask the precocious seven year old who used to have the answer to everything, "And where are you going?"