Chapter I: Its Home

Within a shadowy ravine
Far hidden from the sun,
A fern its wee, soft fronds of green
Unfolded, one by one.

From morn till eve no twittering flock
Nor insect hovered nigh:
Its cradle was the lichened rock,
The storm its lullaby.

By night above the dark abyss
The stars their vigils kept,
And white-winged mists stooped low to kiss
The baby, while it slept.