Poetry Throwback

I just found this poem nudged somewhere in my journal. I wrote it in August, but it seems quite applicable now.

there are some sticks
that, when put in a mason jar of water,
leaves from them grow;
they are on the coffee table in my apartment,
and they were uprooted once.
still they grow.
and why? because that
is what plants do; they grow.
and how are we so different?

Poetry love. btwfyi: the sticks with leaves featured below, at present day, still doing the plant thing, aka growing.