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Poem

Our gardeners planted seeds in a box
And got a garden.
They watered that garden
And got an orchard.
They cultivated that orchard,
And got a forest.
A forest of beautiful men and women,
Of all walks of life.
Some tall, some short,
Some light, some dark,
Some fruitful and generous,
Others austere.

But through all the toil,
The gardeners,the cultivators
Continued to prune,
To refine even the smallest of trees.
Like a mother and child
Even when things got tough
Like overtime with no pay,
They got their reward.
They got their fruitage
From the very garden they watered,
The very orchard they cultivated.

We have been given a foundation
To build upon
And we took to it.
Sank our roots deep
And stretched our leaves high.
Foundations that will not crumble
When exposed to the elements.
Nor will they give out
In times of need.

We remember it like it was yesterday
We were fresh seeds in gilded soil
Ready to take on the world
With smiling masks on our faces.
But within an unseen struggle commenced.
A battle to separate the wheat from the weeds
The men from the mice.
The runners from the crawlers.
To prove that we have what it takes
To hold our own and emerge
From the darkness of virgin minds
And blissful ignorance.
So here we are - the wheat,
The men and women,
Ready to walk out that door
And become your tomorrow.
Separately, we cannot cause a ripple,
But together, we can move the world.

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