A shower of seed fell to the earth
to a chorus of “Wonderful”, loud, with mirth.
The earth was hungry, and thirsty in parts
and the seed did sprout in loamy hearts.
In those, the soil and seed clung together
safe from erosion in windy weather,
that through the wettest thunderstorm
the soil could drink and shoots be borne.
The soil was stunned by a screeching sound:
a shrike flew down on nearby ground
for on a path some seed was scattered
and to that black bird, just one thing mattered;
in a blink, one wouldn’t have known
that any seed had there been sown.
Seeing this, the good soil gasped,
and tightened on its seed its grasp.
Some nearby pebbles rolled away,
crushing their sprouts, and waving to say
“Goodbye, dear soil! It’s just not worth
the risks that weigh on planted earth.”
Then a thorny vine came down to reach
and brush the soil. It began to preach,
and weave its wayward worries: “Heed
my wisdom, friend, forget the seed,
forget the stones, for there is much
that you should tend to – chores, and such.
These are the ways we all grow rich –
not playing with seeds in a muddy ditch.”
The soil replied, “You thorny weed,
you won’t convince me to leave this seed.
Have you not read of Martha’s woe?
You’ll find my answer to you is no.
And as for the stones, I’m sad they fled
the crop and the bird with the serpent head.
One thing is needed to bear real fruit
and that’s to let this seed take root.“