Way back behind the jar

of rusty screws

we find the dust-covered

seed pack: Yates, Grosse Lisse,

plant before December1995.

Might be a bit late.


At the centre

of the created universe,

deep within each living molecule

a seed has been planted.

Buried in the cold darkness

a tiny parcel of potential

holding its divine dna,

splendid and auriferous, quietly

anticipating the promised rain

and the word of assent

that will permit it to sprout.

The smallest gesture of warmth

may be enough.

Then will come a burst

of hope-saturated life

to break through indifferent soil;


growing and becoming.

With time, care and steadfast striving

much long-sought fruit can be produced.


Within each soul, a seed, scattered,

sown by the one who creates;

the rain is gifted by the Spirit,

but the word of assent

must come from ourselves.

Never too late.


© Ken Rookes 2012

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