If You Plant It, It Will Grow
The simplest truth is buried in the dust,
A promise whispered by the gardener's hand,
A tiny seed committed to the trust
Of fertile earth across the waiting land.
It needs the sun, the rainfall, and the air,
A humble start beneath the grassy seam,
But if you grant the patience and the care,
If you plant it, it will grow, a living dream.
Beyond the furrow, the metaphor takes flight,
And seeks the deeper landscape of the mind,
For every thought that blossoms into light,
Is but a seed of a much different kind.
The sudden spark of an inventive scheme,
A notion born of midnight's lonely hour,
It starts as fragile as a waking dream,
A nascent root that craves the sap of power.
You plant the Idea in the conscious soil,
And water it with hours of hard thought,
The tending hand is discipline and toil,
The early fears must patiently be fought.
For critics are the weeds that choke the vine,
And doubt the chilling frost that seeks to kill,
But if the structure of your will is fine,
It finds the sunlight, and it grows, it will.
.jpg "Bahamas Cruise")
