Seed In Heart (To Olaitan) Poem by Timothy Faboade

When a seed underneath ground
Is by a perfect tiller buried,
Is it forever in the closet bound?
And the expectant tiller worried?

It resurrects even with a better body
Spreading its colour, fair and green,
Joining to make nature a better company
And the tiller's efforts by all is seen.

Not with digger I dug your heart
Or plant a poor and corruptible seed
On your innocent fleshy earth
Free of the common mundane weed.

Thus for long I have tarried
Refusing to blink my wearied eyes
Set on the heart which has carried
The seed, my love, and looked iced.

For an age, it seems, I have waited
For the plant to rise even to the space
For I want from the fruit to taste
And wear smiles on my sored face.

The land is fertile and not hostile,
So why would my love not grow
Fair is my love, not futile or vile.
Lady, see the balls of water on my brow.