The Seed

The sky and earth first meet the moment when
 The seed dives through the soil. If water she
 Provides it, and with strength and warmth should he
 Respond, when shoot breaks forth they touch again.
 One might refer to it as love, but too
 Soon is it yet, for many seeds that failed
 He's harbored; and thus far, none have prevailed
 Of all the young leaves she has whispered through.
 The nature of the plant is not in doubt,
 However; as to how and if it grows,
 The shape it takes, the sort of fruit that goes
 Forth from it—if you wait, you will find out;
 But in the seed must sky and earth invest
 Themselves, before its fullness can be guessed.
 I'll chance it on this seed—I need no reason
 Save it's to my liking. For its toil,
 I offer it my warmest, softest soil;
 A fertile spot for it to try the season.
 But now I worry for it—from the sky
 Poured rains which promised so that shoot and roots
 Came forth; but now inconstant wind disputes
 If green will grow before my land wears dry.
 Though Love must many seasons live and grow
 Before it blooms, the one in which it's sprung
 Is vital, as it struggles weak and young
 For purchase; now it most needs help. And so,
 I offer warmth and comfort to sustain
 This tender life—and pray for light and rain.