The Little Fern

True empathy survives chaoes, and plants seeds. -Michelle Liew

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In Aching Grove, where silence thrived, 

A fern with feeling danced–

She sensed the pain of broken lives

The fear of judging glance. 

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The trees stood tall, upright, aloof, 

“Too much heart enslaves.”

The fern just listened, saw the truth, 

And healed the souls betrayed. 

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A fire seared the land, stung eyes

Trees gone but fern remained–

She heard the charred grove’s final cries

She burned, without complaint. 

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When dawn trod through smoky cinder

A sapling rose from soot–

A single fern, trembling, tender, 

Where his mum had taken root. 

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Now new trees feel a tiny beat

Where once the fire burned–

As if the grove still breathes, repeats,

For the fern that did not spurn.

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