There is an old, old story of a farmer
who with great sweeps of his arm
scattered seed
hither and thither
across his land
good seed
healthy seed
each holding within it
a 100 ears of corn
lingering in every dry husk
a waiting potential
a longing promise
a birth of future
and each bounced
as they scattered
across the land
They shimmered in the sun
caught by shards of light
that were going to stretch them
and pull them up
from the earth
Just a brushing glint
as they boomeranged
through the sky
and scrambled
across the field
Then each were left helpless
thrown into corners they never chose to go
abandoned on land they never chose to take root
some among thistles
strangled between weeds
helpless over rocks
scorched on pathways
and left there
left there
to fend for themselves
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