by Heinz Ross

Created on: February 10, 2009

Dew

Sad eyed gold haired princess smiled
at seed she found by chance,
slipped from her hand, fell to the ground,
unaware of this she danced.

Wind buried seed, snow covers soil
frozen it lay in wait
in the bitter cold the spring arrives
the sun refused the ice to thaw.

Another season void of snow,
the sun so hot it baked the ground.
Moisture flees by rising up
to wilt all that did dare to grow.

Third season came the dormant seed
awaits the light and drops of dew
that may give hope of growth and life
it knows within are due.

Three things a seed will need
or else will fail becoming proud,
a need of water, air and warmth
is all it asks of thee.

And ask it did for moisture,
for air and warmth from you
and in return it promised
to give the same to you.

A fair skinned maiden breaks the soil
a narrow gap to vail below.
The sunlight reached the resting seed
as signal starting growth.

The maiden's eye shed tear of pain,
which fell into the crack.
The dew of hope absorbed,
the torpid seed awakes.

The maiden drains her well of dew
while the seed is germinating,
embryonic tissues grow,
transform the germ to seedling.

Last drop of dew she parted,
which turned from pain to joy,
as the seedling sent its roots
to depth and width to help it grow.

And then it held onto the soil
its fragile head uncoiled,
in reach towards her warmth, its sun
that the maiden's heart sent out.

Its root reached deep and spread across
underneath the ground,
holding it fast in any wind,
to grow in strength and girth.

And as it reached maturity
the once seed said to thee,
thank you for the dews of hope
that once you gave to me.'

Now I have grown to what my seed knew
that I had to be
and in your eye's reflection
I see I am a tree.

Once I made a promise
to give the same to you
and on each leaf each morning
I'll give a drop of dew.

And in each fruit I'm growing
a feast to quench your thirst,
and in each branch I shed,
enough to give you warmth.

And in the night I shall inhale
the gas you can not breathe,
and in return give oxygen
so clean that it will please.

And loft it grew a canopy
as cover from the rain and sun.
Its trunk and branches thickened
to be a home for one.

And when it reached its glory
dressed in blossom's bloom,
its scents to reach all bees, and birds
sang songs of joy and doom.

And countless fruits it grew in time
all fell with seeds of hope,
and lovers came to carve their names
on its trunk for all to see.

Learn more about this author, Heinz Ross.
Click here to send this author comments or questions.