[At this time of year (late July, early August), the redwood tree next door
is continuously dropping its cones on the ground.]
All day long
The redwood rains.
Its cones, they drop
On concrete,
Wood, and dirt,
On tiled roofs,
On weedy grass.
It is their task …
To reproduce,
To bear much fruit —
But, alas …
They’ll rarely come
To new green shoot.
The lonely redwood
Planted there,
In city, town,
In suburb brown,
Will boast a solitary crown.
No seed will sprout
On concrete, wood,
On tiled roofs,
But maybe dirt,
Or weedy grass.
Then soon is trampled
Underfoot —
No room for more.
clarakatalin 
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