Of The Seed And The Poison Rain Poem by Rowan Welch

Of The Seed And The Poison Rain



So much depends on the Earth and the Sky.
The Thunderbird claps it’s wings-
Only with the lightning storm.
But everybody knows when destruction is nigh,
For the wind’s message sings-
And the clouds start to form.

Not much else is left for the seed.
Whose plow hath draped-
On the summers day eve?
It’s crushed and swarmed by everyday things,
Yet still keeps it’s shape-
And plots to be conceived.

What else may it do but grow and develop?
It’s life span be long-
Lest confronted by fire.
It seems though, that nature be easily fed up-
With ethically wrong-
Plants’ eternal attire.

So the rain starts to tumble, and whisk, and weave.
Down to the surface-
It falls to the tree.
The tree feels the pain, and begins to see.
It’s leaves burn like furnaces-
As it’s spirit is freed.

Many do mourn the great topiary.
But rejoice in the fact-
That it may finally breathe.
Beneath, though, there lies another small fairy.
The animals all pack-
To see the new tree.

So ever you worry-
About life’s endeavors,
Be happy,
What remains will be someone’s treasure.

Thursday, April 2, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: optimism
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
Close
Error Success