Fallen and Found

I often use humor to gain time --
to give myself a respite from churning creativity,
as I did early with my special packets of seeds.

Now, I have watched in awe and appreciation as sisters
have scattered seeds of dreams and fancy
onto the grounds of the Manor,
and special pots and nurtured soil,
none in need of comment from me.

I am quietly musing in my porch swing,
'neath comfortor and someone's cat
curled in my lap --
as I watch direct and furtive attention
to the potting shed and back.

When night comes, I will again forage
on the shelves and between the boards
for fallen and forgotten seeds --
those not chosen by plan
or chance most wondereous indeed
of taking unlabled packages.

I think of the world outside this haven,
where few would risk the growth of dream unknown,
but here at the Manor, most common and carressed.

Someone left a scrap of paper and a pen --
dear me -- I think I'll jot that down ...

faucon
................................................................................

Other Seeds

I marvel some at the patience
of one who can guide an amaryllis
through the incantations of rebirth --
but when I find that's the only flower
that one holds in awe and focus of will,
I wonder …

I applaud the biomechanic
who spends a lifetime in perfection
of a new color of orchid or rose --
but when I learn their home is barren
save that one splendid form of bloom,
I wonder …

I wander through fields of concrete
'neath which lay fallow, yearnings meadows,
where nothing grows but what was know before --
but listen to whimpers of missing love
from those who never plant a cherish seed,
or wonder …

I search for the child of faithful choice
who sits on a hillside of wildflowers,
where every seed was unknown and magick --
but sings soft of the other right answer
and the courage to live and proclaim all
in wonder …