Way
back behind the jar
of
rusty screws
we
find the dust-covered
seed
pack: Yates, Grosse Lisse,
plant before December1995.
Might
be a bit late.
At the centre
of
the created universe,
deep
within each living molecule
a
seed has been planted.
Buried
in the cold darkness
a
tiny parcel of potential
holding
its divine dna,
splendid
and auriferous, quietly
anticipating
the promised rain
and
the word of assent
that
will permit it to sprout.
The
smallest gesture of warmth
may
be enough.
Then
will come a burst
of
hope-saturated life
to
break through indifferent soil;
becoming,
growing
and becoming.
With
time, care and steadfast striving
much
long-sought fruit can be produced.
Within
each soul, a seed, scattered,
sown
by the one who creates;
the
rain is gifted by the Spirit,
but
the word of assent
must
come from ourselves.
Never
too late.
© Ken Rookes 2012
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