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Please take a moment and think
about the Ailanthus.
No-one plans it.
No-one plants it.
No-one waters,
Or prunes,
Or sprays it,
Or gives it plant food or weed
killer or even manure.
It squeezes between tall
buildings,
Through sidewalk gratings,
And cracks in concrete,
And in angles of fences where
mowers can't reach it.
It survives
Unassisted, and thrives.
It stands up to road salt,
And car fumes,
And dog piss,
And the hardened indifference of
big-city life.
Only let it be:
And it will sink deep roots,
And form stout branches,
And cast a shade as good as that
of any planted tree.
The Ailanthus is all unwanted
children
And the adults they become.
It's those who got adopted
And those who never did.
It's those who learn their
origins
And those who never will.
It's the kids who glut the System
And call it Home:
In orphanages,
In nurseries,
And in foster homes,
Waiting for chance to graft them
onto someone's family
tree.
The Ailanthus,
Laughing at rejection,
Sings out:
"I was born a bastard,
What's your excuse?",
Then turns its leaves to the sun,
And grows.
Please take a moment and think
about the Ailanthus.
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