seedsong

the seed that dies  
where still it lies      
shall one day rise  
to kiss blue skies.  
 
the wilderness  
with eagerness  
its own trees bless,  
that cleave its breasts.  
 
the river bends  
whither he trends  
but comprehends  
not to what ends  
 
his feet shall dance,  
by fate or chance.  
yet, at a glance,  
his sure advance  
 
seems to the sea  
without one plea:  
‘tis destiny  
that cries not cree!  
 
o love that weeps  
while kindness sleeps,  
dance forth in leaps  
till death hate reaps.  
 
shall i conform  
to common norm,  
while nascent harm  
dares to alarm  
 
the wind that blows  
the tree that grows  
the stream that flows  
the love that tows  
 
the narrow line?  
can man confine  
what is divine  
and keep supine  
 
the seed that dies  
where still it lies?  
shall trees not rise  
to kiss blue skies?  
 
© Copyright 2019 January 31  
by Clyve A. Bowen