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.
Jun 12, 2017
Jun 12, 2017 at 10:55 PM UTC
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.