Folic Fears -Seeds That Fell Among the Thorns-

In my closet there is a crystal ball, Damp with pale hues and a dark crack or two. I do not own it, but it is mine, A mire for things I can not hold. Though my Providence holds my stems and my rose petals I cater to the cares of that lucid orb, Only listening to the Breeze with one ear. My wanton worries crawl about in the dark. Forgive me dear Breeze, for I am only clay and dust, And fear like a child of faulty digits. Even more so that my paint may not cover But fall cracked and dry on the ground. I can only yearn in the moonlight for a plentiful harvest, And plant the seeds that I have in another's heart. I know the roots and the stems will be as You craft. My fear is my strength to stay to the plow.