The Seed

The sky and earth first meet the moment when
The seed dives through the soil. If water she
Provides it, and with strength and warmth should he
Respond, when shoot breaks forth they touch again.

One might refer to it as love, but too
Soon is it yet, for many seeds that failed
He's harbored; and thus far, none have prevailed
Of all the young leaves she has whispered through.

The nature of the plant is not in doubt,
However; as to how and if it grows,
The shape it takes, the sort of fruit that goes
Forth from it—if you wait, you will find out;

But in the seed must sky and earth invest
Themselves, before its fullness can be guessed.

I'll chance it on this seed—I need no reason
Save it's to my liking. For its toil,
I offer it my warmest, softest soil;
A fertile spot for it to try the season.

But now I worry for it—from the sky
Poured rains which promised so that shoot and roots
Came forth; but now inconstant wind disputes
If green will grow before my land wears dry.

Though Love must many seasons live and grow
Before it blooms, the one in which it's sprung
Is vital, as it struggles weak and young
For purchase; now it most needs help. And so,

I offer warmth and comfort to sustain
This tender life—and pray for light and rain.