Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Time is turning, inching slowly
Spring seeds planted,
warmed within the fertile earth,
waited for gentle rain.
Sprouts took root,
tender shoots turned thick and tall,
initial wonder turned to worry:
Growing too fast, too big,
Running out of room.
Underneath, the stems are weak,
Maybe they’ll never bloom.
Big enough, let’s prune it back,
Time is turning, marching forward
from seedlings, feeble or strong,
toward harvest, brass or gold.