Its not a pot of dirt !!

It’s not a pot of dirt that’s growing on my sill.

I froze you in, and in the chill.

You sprouted frozen wings.

So small at first I could not tell

But a shoot began to grow.

Small and green beneath dirt un-seen

I moved you to the sill.

Where weak sunlight warmed your insides

And little leaves did grow.

You suck the sun, and bathe the rain

The four of you did grow.

Much taller now, I check you out

Little forks do show.

You do it slow

But now I know.

In a pot of dirt,

On my sill,

Four mountain pines do grow. 

( response to growing mountain pine bonsai trees)