Little seed.
A spear of green
breaks through the crust.
A string of life
weaving in the black earth.
Tiny head peeps
through the surface.
Pushing, straining, reaching
for rays of sun.
Taller and taller,
stiff and straight.
Grow until
you can no more.
Budding, bulging, swelling.
A round ball atop your stem
Slowly pealing, flaking, revealing
golden petals bend their tips.
Stretching out, laying back.
Many yellow arms hang lazily.
Then from the center,
shooting, protruding,
a deep yellow trumpet emerges.
Shall the trumpet play a song?
Yes indeed, the song of life.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems

Share This Poem