No knows, why the sequoia stands so tall,

From below, it’s just another tree,

But through the storms it never fall,

Stretching skyward, and free.

It isn’t adorn with fragrant flowers,

Or fruits, saccharine as honey,

It endures through storms, and showers,

In a cloak of humble burgundy.

I am a young sequoia,

Grounded, on a mountain slope,

Along a winding vista,

And never, giving up hope.

I look towards the heavens above,

And mutter, a silent prayer,

To become strong and unyielding, I dream of,

In this thin mountain air.

No, I may not be, the most glamorous tree,

Exalted for grace, and majesty.

But I will always be there, standing firmly,

Through the harshest tempest, and the most scorching heat.

I am a sequoia, standing tall,

One, who will never back down,

I plunge my roots down into the ground,

And sprint upward, with clouds as my crown.