Blackthorn

I am the seed that knows no name,

I am the happenstance of germination,

of endurance. I am the blackthorn, each

twist and contortion, I am every layer of bark

and every leaf grown and fallen, I am

the nighttide of fruit, bletted or food

for mistle thrush, the star-white bloom

and friend of mottled pug and lonely bee.

I am Winter's hope of crooked tree,

I am the mistbright blossom

of a Hawthorn's sister, I am the Maypole.

I am the root and the unturned earth,

I am the North Wind, a fence of prickles,

I am the rain and the cloud it fell from,

I am the worm. I am the black rod,

I am a giant's cudgel, I am the pin of slumber,

the wood's mother, a broken spell, 

I am all the tales you tell about me,

I am an old wound, healed.

Image is of Blackthorn in the public domain. I guess the poem is loosely inspired by the riddle style of poem, though not initially intended, it reminded me a little of that when I was writing it.