The Seed

The woeful seed
Buried with care
Liberally nourished with manure
Waiting to dare.

Days passed into weeks
Weeks into years
Despite the earnest breed
Unable to sprout, it shed tears.

Year after year
It longed to sprout
Even as the planter did not fear
Believing, saying no to doubt.

In the fourth year
The sapling sprouted
The planter was in cheers
Assured of its clout.

All the potential was stored inside
Quietly braving its winter slice
O heavens! the planter cried
It grew into a mighty tree, never a vice!

Copyright Aabha Vatsa

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