Four trees grew in a clearing

A weeping willow

An oak

A dogwood

And a sapling.

A stranger planted the sapling

And the others did not know what it would become.

 

A willow

Said the weeping willow haughtily

Just see how its small branches droop.

Sorrowful and pure.

Anything else is impossible.

 

No, argued the oak.

It’s clearly a strong oak tree.

What you call drooping

Is just the wind blowing it

While it is still too young to stand against it.

 

What? Strong? Drooping?

Shuddered the dogwood.

Grace is in that sapling.

It will become a dogwood,

Just see how it dances in the breeze.

 

As the trees argued

The sapling grew

Big and tall.

And a stranger chopped it down

Before the others saw what it had become.

And they argued

Still.