this is a pro so not really a poem but oh well
In the highest hours of the sun, it gives off a greenish hue. The long and narrow stems sprout through its leathery coating. A simple item of nature, is often overlooked, for by itself it is pitied, and is left to wilt upon the prickly needles, which impale the tiny child of the beloved giant. Gaping, rotted holes are left in the destructive wake of life. But before beings it's frightening journey, it is held in the rough hands of it's nurturing mother, lifting the child higher than the tallest mountain top.. Seeing the wonders of the world, the beautiful blue skies that fade to pink when the sun retires for the night. Waving to the neighbors, who were different, but loved nonetheless. They always puffed out their chests and left a trial of white behind them. But on days when the sky was upset, and the cold tears fell down from above, it tried to catch as many as the tiny, glossy form could grasp. After the tears are no more, dried once more, it dances to the soft rhythm of the breeze.
But that is not the only child of the gentle giant, many more delicate figures clung upon mother's various hands, which were cracked and faded from the years beaten upon her. The children of alternate colors were not pitied but merely adored for the way they light up the seasons. The colors changing with every decision of nature. Some slender and brown while others broad and luminescent green. Some were even both which mixed to a beautiful orange. But the colors did not matter, because when together, they were like swans in an evening lake. The graceful, swift dance encouraged by the breeze. The dance so beautiful, the sky barely cried, for she was so amazed by the wondrous creation of nature. But every now and then a few felt rebellious, leaving mother's grasp, and venturing out. With only the breeze they flutter away into the night.
