Ferns


Fiddleheads
Begin the Spring,
To unwind
An ancient thing.

Of many fingers
All outstretched
To catch and hide,
The sun's best.

Under cover
Lies a land,
That a child's imagination
Coud understand.

Where ferns
Become giants,
Redwoods and sequoias,
Rises a jungle defiant.

Some weave like snakes,
Some reach like hands,
Other curl under,
Over ten thousand on land.

Some things like ferns,
Have what it takes
To last forever,
Like the water of lakes.

A single spore,
Has the ability
Floating, awaiting
What do you see?

I see true magic
Where others can't.
A fort, a hideaway,
A wondrous plant.

What lurks beneath
All those blades?
A world beyond,
That everyday fades.

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