Abstract 2 & 3
the undergrowth something stirs.
A twig is snapped,
a tiny fern bends down—
such a galaxy of vegetation
all patiently waiting
for the heralded return.
what it is like to be a plant,
but the world spins on a similar axis—
as green shoots stretch out
we can feel the rumblings of the planet.
the hate and envy of the world
cannot dim these outreaching tentacles.
Good things grow and produce
a harvest strong enough to endure.
those lights glimmer,
let the leaves sparkle with their dew
and let the flowers of truth
live in a warming sun.
Poem © Charles Jobson. For permission to re-use contact firstname.lastname@example.org. Painting © Samuel Toussaint.