When you plant
a little seed,
there is no knowing
of the plan
for what it will grow up
to be.

plant it,
feed it
give it water, light and love,

wait for the rain,
keep watch through drought
or flood or mud. . .

And soon or late,
you’re apt to see
the power and kind
of the seed
you worked to tend
on bended knee,

that wonder being
you have raised–
a stubborn, grabbing, shooting grass,
a bulging bush,
or heaven-reaching stately tree.

This entry was posted in Medium Length Poems, Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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