A spirit lives inside each sleeping seed
that awakens its inner instructions
to be, to grow, to go on.
And when the vole nibbles the beetroot
to the gardeners’ dismay,
she finds the fuel to feed her young,
to help them to grow, to go on.
And when the cat captures a young vole,
to the mother’s dismay,
his teeth chomp the bones and muscles flex
with that hunger to grow, to go on.
And in winter, when the ancient oaks drop their leaves,
and the sap inside slows to a crawl,
there remains through the coldest nights of winter,
a soft, almost frozen drip,
that carries on into the first warm days of spring
the memory to grow, to go on.
And when the gardener lays down to rest for the last time,
to the dismay of all his beloved gathered near,
a few remember that spirit is always borrowed
and then passed along
to the next ones to be, to grow, to go on.
– Levi Meeuwenberg 11/2025
