That Is Perhaps What Poetry Is All About

a seed thrown on the ground
beside a bush, it grows and you do not notice.
it is sad to say, neglect does not bother.
time is its ally, and it begins to feel its roots
and leaves.it dreams of fruits.

the seed is now a tree, and it summons children
to play, to climb its branches and to reap its fruits.
that is its only joy. To give.