Till the soil of my heart

I feel it getting hard again.

Plant the seeds of your choosing,

For the ones I sowed turned

To weeds once more.

Water them with your words

And unselfish love.

My well has run dry

My touch has turned cold.

Shine your light in my burrows,

A beacon of familiar hope.

I see you working –

I can feel the seeds sprouting.

Soon I will hold the harvest

Soon I will eat from your toil.