My heart had grown small and hard
     a pebble, I thought: meaningless.
I knew the world this way, and was glad.

A small crack formed and I did not notice.
One more splintering of a useless stone.

But the world had done something to me:
I was changed, after so many years.
I had molted my rough hide
     and sunlight had gotten inside.

That crack showed me not a dry core
     but something green.
Not a stone, then, but a seed.

And I smiled.

I tended my seed, buried it
     deep and watered it.
It was like a birth, or a rebirth.

I did not know what would grow.
I anxiously awaited the first green shoot.

At first, nothing came, and I grew afraid,
But I felt it growing still.
When it poked its head above the soil
     I was lifted up.

I am no gardener, and this was a new thing.
I didn’t know what to call it
     or what it needed.

But I did my best to protect it
     and to keep it fed.

The day I couldn’t find it
I was calm, but concerned.
Had it perished?  Did it slumber?
Did it need more time to gather its strength?

I would not give in to despair.
Hope will be my watchword from this day on.

*****

Imagine my surprise, then,
     one day,
     when I mounted the steps to your house
And saw a young shoot growing
In freshly turned soil, beneath the eaves
     just under your window.

My face cracked open, like a seed.
I did not remember leaving it there,
     yet there it was.

Later, when I looked at your face I saw
That you, too, had not noticed it.
So I will keep this secret.

I will water it a bit, as needed
     (it gets plenty of sunlight now.)
And muse idly on what it shall grow to be.