Zelah_W: Love | (CC BY-ND 2.0)

Love Grows

Love was a seed
beset by weeds,
struggling to put
forth the first shoot —

The sun shone down,
warming the ground;
after a brief
lull, the first leaf
was to be seen,
tender and green.

It kept growing —

It kept throwing
out lots more leaves,
sheaf upon sheaves,
avalanches
of new branches,
standing up tall
instead of small.

It kept growing —

Then ’twas showing
a tight-wrap’t bud,
red as heart’s blood:
to slowly ope,
precious as hope,
pure as a rose.

And still it grows —

Now a hundred
blossoms nod heads
among its leaves,
butterflies weave
between the blooms
and its perfume
wafts sweet and strong;
before too long,
seeds it will sow —

And they will grow