In the new moon’s darkest hour,
the seed giver pressed a seed
in the dirt, and planted it
in the darkest darkness,
of a freezing vernal earth.
With warm tears, he then soaked it,
in bitter pain, he nourished it,
in the hard earth, it swelled,
and in my soul, a longing awoke,
to make sweet, the bitterness,
of denigration and hatred,
and make hope spring from the earth,
and grow as the shoots of love,
into his sandalwood tree,
which gives its fragrance freely.
So, I brood not over today,
for hope works in my darkness,
nor worry I, for tomorrow,
for inspiration he has birthed,
and the gardener sees,
beyond the elegance,
he sees all that I can be,
and all that I have become,
that his love, makes me to be.
A strong, scented, sandalwood tree.
A seed is planted in the darkness, germinates in darkness, but only the gardener who planted it knows what it will become.
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