The sun was bright in the sky.
A little seed lay in the soft ground.
“Will I ever be a tree?” asked the seed.
“Yes, you will,” said the wise old soil.
“How?” wondered the seed, looking around.
The soil chuckled, “With water and sun.”
Rain began to fall, drop by drop.
The seed soaked up the cool water.
The sun shone warmer, hugging the ground.
“Grow, little seed, grow,” whispered the soil.
The seed pushed a tiny sprout up.
A big wind blew, shaking the sprout.
“Hold on tight,” said the soil.
The little sprout swayed but stayed firm.
“You’re brave,” said the sun, smiling down.
The sprout felt strong and brave.
Days turned into weeks, and the sprout grew tall.
Little leaves appeared, dancing in the breeze.
The seed had become a small tree.
“I am a tree now,” it cheered.
“Yes, you are,” said the wise soil.
The end.