With Friends

There is a little sapling

Growing

In front of me.

All alone
The grass grows beneath it.
But can the grass know what it knows
From where they grow?
There are tall trees
all along the sides.
But so far away
They must seem.
Then I think of the wind.
That a tree does not see.
It only feels the wind as it passes.
The little one must feel
that the friends are near.
For the tree has never known "far away."
The tree lives in such good company.
It does not bother to see the distance.
Only does it feel the wind
Between it's fingers.
Like the reassuring grasp
Of a held hand
On a long walk
With Friends.