a seed is sown.
The seed is good.
The earth is rich and deep
but the seed does not grow.
It is not yet time.
the tingling Spring mornings, sparkling with birdsong;
the warm Summer evenings, where light lingers softly;
the subdued noons of Autumn, when trees shed leaves like teardrops;
and the bitter, cold nights of Winter, when silence shivers in darkness.
a seed that was sown
And love is born.
This poem was written specifically for my wonderful mum and her new husband John, who met in their twenties, but didn’t marry until this year. They are not the same people they were then, and needed life to happen before they finally found each other again. They are the perfect match.