Six years have passedSince I sunk my cherry seed in the grass. ll have a tree of my own," I said, And watered it once and went to bed And forgot. But cherry trees have a way of growing Though no one's caring very much or knowing, And suddenly that summer, at the end of May, I found a tree had come to stay! It was very small, just a child Lost in the tall grass growing wild. Goats ate the leaves, a grasscutter's scythe Split it apart, and a monsoon blight Shriveled the slender stem... . Even so, Next spring I watched three new shoots grow. The young tree reached for the sun - The months passed, one by one, And I went away the following year, Spent a season in Kashmir. When I came home again, I saw A cherry tree growing at my door. Six feet high, my own dark cherry, And - I could scarcely believe it - a berry, Ripe and shining in the sun, Hung from a branch - just one! And next year there were blossoms, small, Pink, delicate, quick to fall At the smallest breath, the sleepiest breeze. I lay in the grass, at ease, Looked up through the leaves, at the blue Clear sky, at the finches as they flew And flitted through the dappled green, While bees drank nectar from each bloom, And the sun sank And stars turned in the sky, And moon-moths, singing crickets, and I Praised Night and Stars and Tree: That small, tall cherry, grown by me.