The Botanist Poem by Franklin J. Warren

Holding a small seed in his hand,
Gently placing beneath soil and sand,
Allowing that chance for it to grow,
And make more seeds to sow!

Nurturing daily with water and food,
Tending them with caring mood,
Observing the first tendril breaking soil,
You know it has been worth the toil!

Watching as it grows stout and tall,
Spreading roots so it will not fall,
it lifts its branches toward the sky,
As if to say "i shall not die."

isn't this the way of all things alive,
To grow and to hardily strive,
To stay healthy and to learn,
What is right and what to spurn!

Are we so different from other forms?
How can we say what are norms?
All i think is a matter of degree,
And for each time allowed to be!

in youth they feel they cannot die,
And ignore the old trunks where they lie,
Knowing not on what they feed,
That the old are supplying that need!