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.