Buds on the tree of life,

Each and every one,

Infant, adult, husband, wife,

Straining to bloom, under the Sun,

Spreading our petals as far as we dare,

Hoping to leave our mark,

Hoping to find the strength from somewhere,

To carve our name into the bark,

Hoping the bees will spread our seed,

To other buds on the stem,

Hoping they’ll help us fulfil our need,

To leave our mark upon them,

And when winter comes and the sap runneth dry,

And the chill hits this tree of all trees,

We can relinquish our hold upon life,

And drift away on the breeze.