playing with rhyme

small, hard seeds fall to mother's feet
dusting the floor, nothing neat

one will surely find its way
to break the shell and find this day

once the world came in to view
the tiniest plant grew and grew

up to the sky, toward the sun
inch by inch, never ever done

dropping seeds in dripping rain
cycling life all over again

roots down through the soil, out to the sea
leaves to the air, anchored but free

This was fun. I felt like I was in elementary school again writing it. I've been planting herbs, so plants are on my mind.