Seeds

Seeds, scattered in the winds,
seeking freedom and completion.
Making out of life as best they can
a copy of whence they came.

Seeds, scattered in the winds,
one by one from the pod.
Alike in their origins,
yet so diverse in their lives.

The reckless one, what does ne need?
The adventurer, between these two.
The solitair, what does he seek?
The mother, retracing, yet her own path.
The worker, doing and doing.
The husband; true his fathers son.
The successful one, but at what cost?
The oldest one, what wisdom has he found?

These offspring you could argue,
are just seedlings from the pair;
a genetic step progression,
like the color of our hair.

But weren’t we pressed and molded,
by each other creased and folded?
The love, the hate, the work, the play,
ten lives now reflecting us
as we lived when youth we shared.
That’s what made each seed it’s tree today.

Eight trees, buff’d by the winds of youth,
carried and rooted so far apart.
how seldom they reach to another
though touch they need to fill the heart.

As time turns their yearbook page by page,
the past comes clear as does the mind.
Now as they grow and learn with age,
will each understand, reach and find.

Find that life is not a single tree.
Find their god,
their light,
their roots,
their past?

mgg
late spring, 92