Except a Seed
A shrunken, bitter fruit
dropped from a brittle branch;
the summer rains have passed it by;
the harvesters have let it lie
and Winter stalks the field.
Numb through long days and star shy nights
beneath a void of trackless snow;
dull passersby may never know
the bounty death will yield.
© 1987, Faye Lanham Gibson
Copyright © Faye Gibson | Year Posted 2014
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