I´m sowing the seed
of my wishful thinking,
Through the old slow
& very elegant time,
And I´ll await with
abated breath & blinking,
An early bloom, before
the dawn of rust & rime.
I´m planting the seed
of my dreams & yearning,
Within the softened
sod, of sad & old futile mind,
Awaiting with fingers
crossed & stomach churning,
And willing fate to
be my friend-& I beg, so very kind.
And With my hardened
heart & old soul now praying,
I urge my seed of wishful
thinking, to show its final bloom,
Hopefully then, to
God, I´ll stop my bleat & sadly braying,
And I´ll know my dreams
shall show & be granted very soon.
Plant your seed of
wishful thinking; go on now my little child,
Never sow in
straightened rows & neat tight-knotted schemes,
No perfected blooms
expected, but instead of posies wild,
Growing beneath the
sun in random, all your wishful dreams.
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