I Wither Now Beneath Giants

I am but a sapling in a forest of giants,

And I, though of vigorous and good seed

I have remained diminutive in stature,

yet not so in my need.

For I reach with spindly limbs into an unseen sky,

Fighting but for a single ray of light from a mystery on high.

I reach forth in spirit, yet with a dwindling, dying hope.

For it is as if the shadows of those so mighty

by unknown fate have spoke.

So, therefore, I….this tiny and dying tree

Oh, I…will never become,

What my good seed meant me to be.

For I wither now beneath the giants of time.

J. Allen Wilson © 2005