Tonight,
Life
Is slow and sweet
(and careless),
Like the sun’s last evening kiss
Before he finally withdraws behind
His earthen fold.

Tonight,
Life
Is soft and warm and dark
(and full of secrets untold),
Like the rich, black soil buried beneath
A twinkling navy blanket.

Tonight,
Life
Is full of slumber and release,
Like a flower’s gentle sigh
As she folds her petals in for the night
And waits
Quietly for the morning.

They all must wait for the dawn,
For that single second
When the sky first opens her eye
And enlightens
All those who watch and wait
With eager expectations.
Her brightness sparkles and dances
From one translucent tear to another,
Until one-by-one
The drops melt away un—
And then,
Suddenly,
There it is!
What they’ve all been waiting for:
That tiny, green toothpick-of-a-thing.

Oh,
The mystery of Life!
Of soil
And sun
And seed
And water.
How is it possible
That from their intersection
New life so often follows
And thus begins a living memory
Of their sacred, momentary meeting?

And how is it possible
That some consider using
Illegitimate powers
To squash
That tiny, green toothpick-of-a-thing
Before it ever has a chance
To blossom?

Yes, some say,
“There are so many flowers,
That no one will notice
If there is one-less
Today.”

Yet, some say,
“Is it not tragic
To break what is fragile,
And is it not unnatural
To break the cycle
Of what is so clearly
Mother Nature’s Magic?”