THREE small seeds, as dry as rust, Lie upon the sun-warmed dust— Though you pierce their hardness through Nothing will peep out at you; Though you crush them, you will see Nothing being or to be— Yet, safe hidden from your eyes, In one seed a great tree lies, From whose branches, springing tall, Birds shall send their mating call, Nor shall wood-man rob its shade Till new centuries be made. This brown kernel, hard and sweet, Holds a spear of springing wheat, Which, when one brief summer's done, Counts a score where now is one, So that in your hand lies curled Fields of gold to span the world. This third seed, a tiny thing, Hides the rose that poets sing, Tender leaves which softly part, Freeing from their crimson heart All the gathered fragrance shed By a million gardens dead— See, the rain with padding feet, Turns the warm dust dark and sweet, Hiding all, that none may tell Earth's most lovely miracle— Three brown seeds that soon will be Fruit and flower and a tree! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HOW TO BE A POET (TO REMIND MYSELF) by WENDELL BERRY I'VE NEVER SEEN SUCH A REAL HARD TIME BEFORE' by HAYDEN CARRUTH IF IT WERE NOT FOR YOU by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE SMALL SELF AND THE LIBERAL SELF by JAMES GALVIN |