Mirror or Metaphors Poem

Mirror or Metaphors Poem:

From my conception dirty hands raised me

Nourishing me with morning dew

In my frail state they monitored me

Along with all my siblings

Our kindergarten was tight knit

The early birds and the late bloomers

Through rain and sun we stood tall

When Some of us fell sick

The hands that bore us weeped

As they plucked us from our foundations

But we who were lucky and strong

Continued forward, always marching

Soon we saw the same land that our parents saw

The same earth that fed them

Though they were long gone

Shadows and ghosts helped us along

The lessons they taught the dirty hands

Kept us growing and growing

Eventually the wind could not hurt us

As we climbed trellis after trellis

Lashing out with our long arms

And growing into a gentle embrace with each other

When snow melted and turned to sun we created our lineage

Our time growing short

The arms that once felt the sun on them

Began to wither under that same heat

And eventually we all began to take our rest

But our existence was not forgotten

We are the spirits who now inherit the loam

And those we created will continue to do as we did

Till blight or pestilence take their toll