The Seed of Hope

The old man stood at the edge of a snowy path,
and in a moment's madness retraced his steps
seeking to understand his journey’s wrath.

“No more,” he said, “I’m tired Lord. No more!”
And so he prayed for death to come his way
and in mercy, end his empty days on earth.

But he still looked back – over his shoulder.
He remembered sowing his seed in spring,
and in the summertime, watching his kernel grow.

He remembered dreaming of the harvest,
trusting autumn’s gold would shine some day,
and he felt renewed as he did back then. 

But on his journey’s end, the bitter winter of his life,
his heart was gouged by a blade honed with irony,
for his seed had perished in infertile ground.

And he stood at the edge of that dark, snowy path,
taking an embittered glimpse at the past. Nothing to show,
but a sack of dreams dangling empty from his back.

“No more,” he said again; closed his eyes, then turned
to the silver sky and shouted his anger with might:
“I’m tired, Lord; take me home. Take me now!”

Then, his gaze fell on a snow-laden pine. Icy crystals
trickling down its limbs, quenched natures thirst for life,
and he would sow the seed of hope, one more time. 

Carmen Ruggero .2007