Now you are the Seed
for my Grandaddy Roy
Now the soil is carved
to make way for hands
that handled seeds with care
all their earthly days.
Now you are the seed—
Once you made space
for what looked like death.
For dried soy beans &
shriveled corn—
dusty field peas & string beans
turnips, collards & more.
(even tobacco seeds—for better
or worse)
Now you are the seed—
Once, you sowed faith
small as grains of mustard
in three small children’s hearts‚
and by grace like rain
they grew.
Once, you held grands & great-grands
in your weathered hands—
and by grace like rain,
we will grow to sow faith
like you.
Now you are the seed—
Now, I need the faith
of a farmer like you
to nestle you gently
in borrowed earth
like Paw-Paw’s sweet potatoes
so carefully arranged—
to plant the seed of you
beside the one for whom you tended
gardens & roses & feeders full of hope
like birdseed.
Now, I need the faith
of a farmer like you
to disbelieve what my eyes
have seen & believe instead
in fields of glorious green & songs
of eternal spring—the land
from which no sparrow
falls.
Now you are the seed
in the hands of a Farmer
even older & wiser than you—
and he knows
the time to plant
and he knows
the harvest
is coming.
Now you are the seed
we sow in tears—
but we will reap
with shouts of joy.
