Tender Shoot


There was a young, tender shoot

In a garden growin’

Alongside were thistles and thorns

And a few roses loamin’

The thistles and thorns, they weren’t so bad,

Just uncomely, prickly, frightful.

The roses weren’t all sweetness either,

But smelled lovely and delightful.

One day the farmer strode right through

The middle of the garden.

Unwittingly his large leather boot

Crushed down the young tender shoot,

Though he looked back and forcefully winced

At the damage he had done,

Tried with all his might to lift the shoot,

T’was bruised and all his help was none.

He cried, that sturdy farmer,

For his brutal boot had killed

The only thing his heart had loved,

That he’d raised and fed, and tilled.

He had a few seeds stored away

In a brown pouch held closed with heart strings.

He  broke the seal, spread them near the shoot

With the fear and care that love brings.

The seasons passed, the farmer aged,

The shoot began to grow,

Nourished  by the seeds of love,

It strengthened with pride, did glow

And proudly watched the shoot

Leaf into a velvet orchid

In spite of his grimy boot.

Through the years they spent hours

Beneath the same golden sun

They grew to love each other dear

Yet each saw the sun in different light,

Understood that clear, with deep delight

Each could live under the same sight

And still love each separate, yet ever one.

jon jacobs  2013

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