Weed Fern Pine

There’s a thing, a green shape,
A life form, a small plant
The height of a house finch
In the shape of a pine
Branched in fronds, like a fern,
Just a weed in the cracks.

Don’t you wish it would grow
Huge, shade the house, heave rocks,
Take up most of the sky?
Some day it might. A thing
Like it, raised in thin cracks,
Grown to great woods. Yes, that.