…With faith, hope, and fear,
The farmer sets out,
Hoping each year,
To beat out the drought.
His job is quite clear:
Give them water and light,
And each little seed
Will turn out just right.
When the harvest is through,
He’ll stop thankfully,
And think of the trials
That lead to his glee.
He’ll remember the rouging
When sick plants were butchered.
He’ll mourn each lost plant
That for months he had nurtured.
He’ll also recall,
From earlier on,
The sprouts that were lost
When frost came at dawn.
Then he’ll think of the others,
Deer trampled at noon,
And regret each lost seed –
Potential crushed so soon.
For these too he’ll mourn,
No different than the rest,
Knowing each little seed
His harvest might have blessed.
After all, a plant is a plant,
No matter how small.
And each seed that’s lost
Reduces them all.
So, for now he protects them,
Under layers of soil.
He knows their potential
And they’re worth the toil.
Whether lost in old age
Or ended pre-birth,
A life has been taken.
Each life: of great worth.