Drifting, an ungerminated seed;
Swept by forlorn winds over concreted soil.
Imagination fabricates the merry orchestra
of a rock-strewn stream,
Tricking hope of close rewards to bloom,
In a mind left fallow;
Unused by Possibilities.
The sudden collision of funnelled air
leaves the aging seed caught on loose stones;
A quiet nook of uninterrupted solitude,
Where begins the journey of returning to soil.
Published on: The Nothing in Between/WP
Photo by Grant Durr
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