For Alison, Waiting to Bloom


Along the brook
Where blue flag and violets grow
Are a few seeds, unborn
Deeper than the rest.

They lie waiting,
Untouched by the Spring Sun's gentle fingers
that have already coaxed
their brothers and sisters
above ground.
What can they know?

In their darkness
These few seeds
Await the concentrated strength
of the Summer Sun's hand
to draw them out, and thus,
Escape the cold grip
that threatened to hold them
unfulfilled.

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