I feel the need
To grow out my stems
And be plucked from
This field of wheat
My roots are planted on.
I sense a change of season coming-
The wind tells me so.
Though, the stretch makes my petals wilt.
I understand,
That, I need to nestle in patience!
Because, I too, someday
Will see my seeds ripen in a destined sunlight.
And, in that fruitful moment,
When I flourish like the rest,
And be amongst the blooms and harvest.
I can thank myself-
For falling in line.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
ooohh, .... i think this one is good! sir, are you new here?