When I was a seed,
all I needed was
But even rooted,
all I wanted was
When I shot up,
I seethed to leave
(not understanding what
And climbed way out upon a limb
where swaying with each passing wind,
I fell to the ground again
(and here I am, and here I am).
Now, I’ve had some time to learn
more than I’d lief know
of what it means to be sown, oh yes,
and what it is to grow.
Yes, tired. Yes, eminently drafty. 14th poem for the month of April. Posted belated in Real Toads Open Platform, hosted by the wonderful Kerry O’Connor. This one influenced by a song she posted whose title is Seven Years.
Pic is mine taken this morning of Central Park, modified. Sorry if late returning comments; will be there!Explore posts in the same categories: poetry, Uncategorized comment below, or link to this permanent URL from your own site.