Theophilus The Planter

By Ronald David Myers

A seed from a crumpling brown paper bag,
Tenderly touched from my Father’s hand into mine.
Seed so lonesome in soil, ever in my heart.
I encouraged my seed, yet, walked away.
Struggling seed in the depth and darkness, worried sleep.
Repetitious words of weather began to unsettle,
Found in the garden again, I hungered.
Watchful for answers to troubling words of life.
At last, my plant and I.

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