O' Seed

O seed of minute proportions, So small, a minuscule apportion. From God, you were sent, From a low place, you were meant for a glorious ascent. Yes, low, down into the ground you go, Covered with dirt first before you can grow. Away from all, stepped on, unseen and unpopular, But quietly you grow and rise like a star. The dirt of lies, gossip, manipulation, and defamation of character, Yes! They cover you in the ground of seeming disaster. But with rain, time, and the benevolent sun, you will grow. So remain quiet; in divine time, you will be beautiful, and they will see and know.