Lightening strikes fire into the depth of the ancient
It smoulders silently
Waiting for the wind to turn it.
Rich ash adorning her feet
Seeds blow on gentle breezes
Landing delicately
Testing soils
One stretches itself tall
Not satisfied at all
An upgust
Above the canopy
It flutters mysteriously
On a marionette?
What hands guide it?
Where shall it rest?
Boughs stretch open across the land
Cupped tenderly towards it
An upgust
It continues to seek
The Ancient smoulders gently
Patiently waiting…
With wealth at her feet
Little Wren 