A Stranger did come, one day long ago
And on my front door did she knock.
Little more than her name do I know.

But of me, so much more was asked.

And yet then as today all I have are the rake
And the plow with which I attempted to sow
Seeds of friendship; of love.

And hard indeed the work was.

Tending, Nurturing, Caring; the actions of my invitation.
Though rains of good will refused to flow,
I plowed on, with intrepid dedication.

To this day, the seeds have not grown,

Iridescent, blooming, flowers I hoped to see
However, the fruits of my labor have instead
Consumed a part of me.

A singular hope, and a stranger that still is.

For the fields of my heart lie fallow,
In wait. That some may take
Longer than others to bloom.