A tiny seed you were in early May;
You drank in dewy moisture by the day
And tried to reach your sprouts along the way
And shove your tender stalk up through the clay.

One morning sunlight filtered through the gloom
Of dirty clods that made your lonely room
And with the dream in sun to one day loom
You thrust your smiling face out of the tomb!

Ah! there you are, sweet laughing flower, shy!
Now tilt your head upwards to face the sky!
You’re tall and strong now—see the bees that fly
And sip the nectar from your honied eye!

May I come, too? Your face is soft and brown—
I’ll brush my face along your sugared down
Of cushioned cheek that never knows a frown
And kiss the silken sunshine of your gown.

It’s autumn now. The west wind chill that blows
Across the painted landscape somehow knows
Your countless seeds on fertile ground he sows…
And waits for blooms to wake with melting snows.

COPYRIGHT 2021 BROOKLYN K. BIEGEL