the acorn lies there
alone on the hard surface of the sidewalk
the day is warm
and the nurturing rain drifts down
soaking the ground and the seed
everything is in place
for the seed to take root
and from that seed
a tree emerge
a wonderful living gift
where birds can repose
and in whose shadow
lovers can adore
but one thing is missing
rich, fertile soil
broken open
receptive
and so the seed lies there
on the hard surface of the side walk
unrequited
how often Lord
am I like the sidewalk
so set in my thinking
so cemented in my ways
so closed
that my hear (soul?) is like concrete (stone)
how many seeds
have you sent
that have never bloomed
how many gifts have never been
received?
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