The Seed

I once held
a little seed tight
in my line-crossed palm,
waiting for the perfect time,
the perfect place
to set him free;

I watched the seasons
being born and die,
I watched the sun beat down
upon the burning earth,
I watched the flickering lights
upon a blackened sky,
I watched the storms
rage on and swivel by,
and held on tightly
to the tiny seed -
he couldn't go,
just yet, I thought;

until I saw a bird
drop a seed
while he whistled by -
where the sun and the stars,
the dark and the storms,
and the warm earth
where she tumbled
and giggled,
and cried and rested,
played with her,
shaped her,
and opened her,
so she could share
her gifts with them
and the world;

and I dropped
my little seed
quietly to the ground,
to set him free,
as I set myself free
from a tethered world.