Ode To A Twig Of Pine

Confined in a vase, in an element not of its own, With each orbital movement, intermittent light and dark, This twig of pine of a deep, healthy, intense green, It is growing, progressively extending its tiny roots, Preparing itself for the richness of the fertile soil: Within its essence, —preparing itself to become a tree. Will it continue to thrive out of its earthy element? In this small amount of water, I still wonder... We two share an intimacy, a similarity of situation: We are both in a surviving state, in a constant wait: We are waiting to become trees, with wooden roots, Instead of these white fibrous textures, frailly floating. I am its caring gardener, hoping for my gardener To plant me in his heart, —that we may grow in love: Nurturing and nourishing each other with tenderness, Delighting in our spiritual development, by love united: That our roots may grow deep, and our souls soar high, Embracing in our hearts the mysteries of the sky. Refreshing coniferous-resin, spicy sylvan rosemary! Oxygenating life with potentiality and longevity: Pineal fruit of wisdom and rising to Enlightenment, Cornucopia within the infinity of knowledge, Unfolding Fibonacci's mathematical perfection! The Eye of the Universe, in its simplicity—here, in my vase!