September 19, 2016

I am from the seeds dropped from familiar hands,
dug into the cigar box storing old memories,
sprinkled lightly onto the soil which bore me into this earth,
a new generation, rebirthed, regrown, renewed.

I will grow where I am planted, because uprooted flowers die
and find solace in my own company.
The earth is my home, Her dirt in my toes—
I sprouted here and here I flourish.

Young saplings mature into strong oaks,
remember: trust, respect, and determination
but reaching for a crown that’s not yours is a sin…
“You can’t squeeze blood from a turnip!”

Over time, my stem will strengthen and I will stand tall.
Although my limbs are too gangly, too gawky, too awkward,
growing tall is a part of life, so the sprouting years should be savored, inch by inch.
I’ll find a way to see the sun, and love my bumps and thorns.

The bees will come and I might get stung,
to cry is human, but not for long, because the world is kind.
I water my roots and stand tall once more
I am a rose with iron petals!

The seasons will change and people will pass,
so when picked up by the hands of my maker,
I trust that He will take me somewhere good,
where the air is sweet like honey, and peace is among the weary.

I am a child of the earth, and with Her I will grow and bend.
Her wind whispers softly in my ears, Her sun upon my cheeks
a mere dandelion in the Garden of Eden,
but I’ll grow where I am planted, because uprooted flowers die.

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