The fire burned hot on forest floor,
Scorching bark and nothing more,
Small seeds pop from redwood cone,
It’s time to root and make a home.
The dark, rich soil, the perfect bed,
Cleared by flame, by drizzle fed,
Tender roots start digging down,
To anchor kings of forest crown.
The first few years are hard indeed,
So little sun, my leaves to feed.
I grow toward light, to find a place,
Where I can grow with rapid pace.
A lucky break, a giant comes down,
Clearing a path from sky to ground,
I’m ready, waiting, is this my turn?
I must get big before I burn.
Growing quickly to fill the hole,
My crown shoots up to reach my goal,
A prince I am. A king I’ll be,
Tall and proud. A Redwood Tree.