The Furtive Seed

-The Furtive Seed-

Oh restive heart,
Awoken in the dark at last;
All shadows shuffle away,
As heralds alight this torpid sun,
Our bright first dawning day.
Aroused in a gentle sleep,
you came,
with only the wind to whisper your name,
and pricked my ears with a kiss,
that all the years,
from that sad absence to this,
were but an incubation,
a germination of a seed.
The blooming of a tree.
How can I express,
how deep these roots have burrowed?
I must confess,
I turned the soil each night alone,
the winding of the succulence, 
deep, down into the loam.
No shadow was wasted.
The harvest of every shattered dream,
broken in the mulch,
the rotten soil,
the airy toil of midnight worms, a hope.
To dream a tree, a sapling risen,
amongst the golden bough of autumns ruddy cheeks,
to break the crusted earth, make free,
the flaming bush that leaps upon these peaks.
Unlikely seasons do herald a frosted March.
That in the winter snows,
we two may rest a while,
an intimacy of quiet repose,
deep beneath the fleecy covers,
blessed in loves great warmth, two sated lovers.
My Heart, my home,
entice the budding blossom of this love,
that in the spring,
upon the larks sweet bough,
a rhapsody may bring a man a wife,
for you my love, are the budding symphony of life.
This, furtive seed,
we hold inside our hearts,
may spring anew in times not old,
but in the gentle gift of this loving start,
can bring a summers joy from out the cold.

© Richard Michael Parker 2013