We tuck the seeds in for their sleep
Spreading the soil over them as tenderly as a mother,
Those covers under which they’ll lay
-snug, dark, safe-
dreaming of the fine plants they’ll grow to be.
Adjusting their tray so that the sunlight hits it
gently, unobtrusive as a nightlight by a child’s bed
Offering a final drink of water for the night,
we softly tiptoe away
-a lullaby on our lips-
leaving them to their sweet sleep.
With the smallest ones,
it’s as tedious as threading a needle,
Which is -perhaps- as it should be,
as this is sowing.
Incidentally (and not as closely related to these poems as the title may indicate), I read another short story today that I’d recommend – Rudyard Kipling’s “The Gardener.” Very short. Pretty simple. But the last page kinda blew me away.