Seed Planters
Seed Planters
“Forgetful squirrel, where’s your mind?
You snatch these fruits to hide and hoard
Yet every stash, you do not find.
You steal to eat, yet not what’s stored.”
The sapling glared through fledgling eyes
Observing, as trees do
But lacked all that which makes one wise
Like he who “tames the shrew”
For doing what he’d always done
The squirrel now felt ashamed
Though spake by one, he’d come undone
“All I took, I will reclaim.”
The noble squirrel, to make things right;
Retraced his every path
Crawling under mushrooms white
His first stash, masked from wrath
The birds above would never see
This cluster swarmed by tiny bugs
Who feast just like the bourgeoisie
And pay the squirrel with tiny hugs.
In their eyes he’d been the one
Who’d helped them stay alive
By doing that not simply done:
To live, and also thrive
Then on he hopped to places placed
Where once lay seeds he stored
Now grew a grove of saplings laced
With leaves, and seeds, and spores!
“I…did this? I made these grow?”
Though not a mastermind
It goes to show what we don’t know
Can still be used in time.
The squirrel returned to that young tree
But he said not a word
Of how his seeds had made him be
For wisdom sounds absurd
To those who still have yet to grow
Whether growing fast or slow
Then told him “Thanks.” and left it there
Breathing deep this brand new air.
The sapling planted in his mind
A seed of doubt
- that could’ve sprout –
But now served to remind
The lowly squirrel – and you, and me
That all of us plant seeds
Of strength and deeds
Or spite and weeds
And none of these are we required to water
For nature is our Alma Mater
Plant Wisdom’s seeds, in all their beauty
But linger not, it’s not our duty
To care, and water all the seeds
For Nature will - it’s her, not we
Who chooses when to make things right
Who cycles day as much as night
And uses shade, then uses light
To show us warmth, or bring us plight
Until her rainclouds wash us clean
Of all the mud, and all unseen
From seeds, our trees grow from their fights
To rise above to soaring heights.
- A. J. Darkholme (March 2022)