The seed floats across the sky,
Buffeted by winds sometimes gentle or hard.
It needs to find a place to land
That can shelter and nourish it.
Below, the ground is parched and hard,
Scoured by the same air and sun.
The world is too hard, hot, brutal.
Nothing can blossom on such harsh soil.
But, oh, the winds know the seed aloft,
One more time beyond the dust.
And it finds a crack in the outlying rock.
Dark, sheltering, full of water and earth.
Such a small place to find a place to grow.
But grow it shall, and become tall and beautiful.
Amazing, that in the midst of hard nature
A place for beauty to blossom can be found.
There are reasons I'm taking medication. They're called "other people." - Me, displaying my anti-social tendancies