In the quiet cradle of dawn,
One bend low to the earth,
spooning away the cool soil,
inviting a new life into the world,
a tiny seed,
smooth as a whisper,
nestled in my palm,
cradled by hope.

With gentle hands,
as one tucks it into its home,
a promise wrapped in potential,
and cover it with the tender earth,
like a mother laying her child to sleep,
a soft sigh escaping
as one pats down the soil,
sealing ones secret.

Days pass like painted strokes across the sky,
sunrise to sunset,
rain to shimmer,
As one waited —
the silent vigil of expectation—
witnessing each dance of the breeze,
the greeting of morning mist.
The...