A tender sapling peeped out 

From beneath the mass of dried leaves

Strewn on the forest floor.

A tiny beetle climbed up on it

As it soaked in the first morning rays.

The trees were enrobed in vernal wood,

And twilight streaked the skies purple.

Its young companions, now tree-sages.

Witnessing several seasons,

It shelters newcomers from them.

Separated from its ancestral home,

It morphs into a white layer;

Pounded in water and reduced to fibre

To be made suitable for brush and pen,

It now rests at the artist's desk.

It fills with the inspirational energy

Transferred to it through paint,

Pondered over, rubbed and re-done

And left beneath the messy table,

It gazes out the blurry window.

Now confined to the solitary,

Cobweb-infested dark space

Where a single spider weaves 

A glistening mass of aspirations,

It offers rest to dust particles.

A breath of wind picks it up

And frees it from captivity

To lay it down upon the moist soil

Where it decays to feed

A struggling young plant.