Some Spring Day Poem by Dennis Lange

One by one, we're planted in
Our cemetery plots,
By careful hands and quaking hearts -
Beloved forget-me-nots.

Our sleep - long, deep, while others are
Still toiling like the bees,
Collecting nectar day by day,
And playing in the breeze.

They bring fresh flowers to our graves
To brighten up our room,
As if to give example so
We just might dare to bloom.

And thus we will, on some spring day,
Like seeds begin to sprout;
We'll burst forth from our flower beds,
When beckoned by a shout.

And on that cold or sunny day,
Will we be wheat or weed?
Will our swift rise be a surprise?
What is our kind of seed?

Not chance our lot, but charted course,
For, in our lives we chose
To be what seed is planted here -
A bramble or a rose.