Growing

There was a fine house

In a story I once knew

Built strong on the ground

’Til beneath a pine grew

It started out small

Just a wee sapling sprout

It wound round the side

Just the tip peeking out

And while it grew

It made not a sound

As it lifted the house

Right off the ground

No treehouse like this

Had ever been seen

A grand home in the branches

Of an evergreen

And the occupants remained

Quite content you see

Growing themselves

Their own family tree

Writing Unbound