Spring is the air. . .

In my heart. . .

In my step,

When I allow
the little buds
within me
just to be there.

Give them sun,
give them love,
and proper feed,
and give
exactly and completely
the simple sum
of things they need. . .

Then, patient,
must I wait,
not even trying to engage
each little bit of wit
and useful stuff I know. . .

but just to pray
and make it clear I care,

for that will be the crucial part
that activates whatever art
they choose to use,

be it to blossom, wither,
or whatever,

or sisterly, together,

in order that
not just their little corner pack,
but the whole darn tree
and its future waves of progeny
spring boldly forth,
in concert,
in such a way
they prosper
and and they grow.

This entry was posted in Poetic Musing (Longer Poems), Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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