Linking

Another revelation wrought by the green world.

To sit among the seedlings
grants a certain sense of We,
a type of inner seeing
that erases thoughts of Me.

You start to wonder why a
mind could ever fret and dwell
when the very breath you draw
depends on fickle solar swells,

Or how a mouth is ever fed
if every maw is eating
a piece of everything in sight
just to keep on beating.

You start to see the peril
planted deep inside, of life,
and ever after grows respect
for natural law and strife,

And though the seedlings do not
speak or signal us their waking,
they know the cost of lives well-lived
since they have seen unmaking.

To sit among the seedlings
is to know the warmth of loam
tended daily for the benefit
of worlds who call it home.