Little Sprout

Before little wing. After little flight.

In the crisp air of spring,

I observed:

     The budding possibilities,

     The blooming array of color,

     The fragrant hope of life;

In the warm air of summer,

I was carried,

     The weight began to grow,

     Sweetness filled my flesh,

     A treasure formed within;

In the still air of autumn,

The dreadful fall:

     The colors became dull,

     The bruise became rot,

     Days so short and cold;

Inhale, embrace the air of winter,

A seed lies in wait,

     Within it I have my life,

     Alas, I have nourished it,

     I have become it.

As it begins,

     so have I become again.