A Seed Grows Where It Falls

I was thinking the other night over a cigarette about how I sometimes wish I would’ve ended up somewhere else. Dan said, “We all wanna be somewhere else than where we live, but that’s not reality it’s just point of view.” And as I smoked, I looked at the old maple tree across the path, and put two and two together. And by pitying the tree, being stuck where it is, I found a metaphor to pity myself.


A seed grows
Where it falls

And at a
Ripe age

With leaves
It looks out

Sees other
Beds of earth

Where it might’ve
Taken root

But didn’t

It weeps autumn
Sighs through winter

And dreams of
Other soil again

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