In the garden of flowers, the seedling wove
—twisted
—tried to find its share of sunlight.
It bent itself backwards to live peacefully amongst the flowers.
All the weaving made it weak.
Dragging along the earth,
starved for sunlight, it shrank.
The flowers twisted around the outcast.
They would have strangled it out,
if not for the two-months of unrelenting sun.
The Beacher Tree grew amongst the dying flowers.
Now, thirty feet high,
its branches stretch over the summer sky,
shading the appreciative flowers in the garden.
