I did not plant you, true.
But when the season is done,
When the alternative prayers for sun
and for rain are counted,
When the pain of weeding
And the pride of watching are through,
Then I will hold you high,
A shining sheaf above
the thousand seeds grown wild.
Not my planting,
But, by heaven,
My harvest –
My child.

Author: Carol Lynn Pearson


Comments

My Harvest — No Comments

Join the Conversation!

Business Gypsy Web Design