A Time To Plant Poem by Tsani Jones

It is all barren stone now.
The fresh earth
Mother of the future
Tilled by a gentle blade
Only a wild heart can harness
Remains fallow.

Ants and birds
Plundering the scurf
For the tiny treasures
Time missed
And nature forgot.

Cut open to the quick
And laid aside with the skill
Of cupidity's surgical prowess
Two sides, one to face the other
Anticipating the contact.

They stand erect and alone in rows,
Two armies pitched for battle,
And the gulf of receding desire
Set betwixt them.

In this hungry ground
The seeds were never sown,
But remained in a bag
Far away from the desolation
To mold, rot, and fade.

He would wonder what
Ever became of her...
And she would refuse to be
Bothered by the silly likes of him.

One day, perhaps she would remember,
Glance upon this place and time
Which was cut open in longing
Solely for her.

A girl's seeds of what could be
Will be gone,
The field capped with tiny stones,
Odor of tar, tires, and stringy
Hot chewing-gum.

Love may forgive,
But time does not.