Victims of Gravity

The roots of the giant Banyan tree
How they turn from uncertain shoots
Unaware of any purpose or direction;
Unaware of the larger scheme, the bigger theme..
Unaware of the existence of so many others
Who began as an aimless sprout..
And turned into the old, magnificent
Grandpa of a tree..
Wise, calm and full of sympathy
For impatience, haste and the fear of uncertainty..

Or the neatly queued Pines on a cold, crunchy slope,
Hiding cones and squirrels,
Bestowing their host with added dignity..
The meandering roads through Eucalypti
Making up with fragrance for their lack of destiny..
Perms of twisted, young tendrils
Bending gracefully with a fat Pumpkin..
Unaware perhaps hence perfectly able..
Of such prolific agility..

Should we then group them all
As fortunate victims of Gravity?