Poetry 118: The Seedling

The Seedling
by Aidenn A. Spelling

Sometime during early spring
A seedling arrived out of nowhere
With no promise of ever growing
It planted itself on a patch that’s fertile

Its creamy bean-shaped body lied dormant
And for months it made no appearance
It made no mention of its needs and wants
It tucked itself on a bed, soily and damp

As warm replaced the cool air
And trees and grass dried away
The little seed did not wither
It borrowed enough time under slumber’s care

One day the flower pot owner arrived
Almost forgot he had put it aside
He thought, “Should I throw this out?
And empty the soil that bears no life?”

But a voice in his head made a sound
Or so he thought it was the case
Little did he know it wasn’t his head at all
It was a voice in the pot asking for grace

Something that wasn’t there before
Suddenly became an instant curiosity
He thought day and night what to do
For he’s never planted a seed or even a tree

But the voice kept begging him
“I’m cold and I’m dying. Please help me!”
So the owner sprinkled his pot with water
Every single day with zest and glee

Morning, noon and night he would do this
Even as the days got shorter
Morning, noon and night he would pray for life
As the nights got even longer

But months had passed with no luck
No sign of life, no bud sticking out
So the owner asked a question
“Why so quiet? Don’t you want to come out?”

He did not get a response that day
Nor the following autumn morning
Nor the day that followed after
No voices, no whispers, no calling

Thinking there was no life
Thinking hope had no meaning
The owner slipped into deep sadness
He thought his own life should be ending

And as the first snowflake fell on the earth
And the absence of leaves became apparent
A tiny shoot emerged from the soil
A fragile thing, a tender specimen, born out of torrent

It began to speak and call its owner’s name
But a response was neither noticed nor heard
Only silence, only peace prevailed
The shoot was left alone and deserted

But it survived and had come alive
It had sprouted out of flooded waters
It had wanted to explain why it was quiet
But it was too late to give its answers

“Too much water,” the sprout said to itself
“I could not be heard from all the water”
But the owner was no longer around
He had left the earth and crossed over

But the sprout thanked its owner
And offered a short and sweet prayer
It gave thanks for his love and kindness
For his generosity and sacrifice a hundred times over

For without his water, he would never have lived
For without his love, he could never have learned
A world filled with utter beauty and spectacle
A world filled with contrasts as its first leaves unfurled

THE END

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