Burrowed beneath my inner mind's heart are tiny possibilities
waiting to penetrate through their outer shell, stretch beyond their dwelling place
and reach towards the sky.
Fragile and tender, they will sprout from amidst my dreams.
After years of careful tilling; a reverie fertilized by tears, hopes and scarcity
must be prolific.
Sweetest Chance, in your infinite knowing
will you turn your shining favor towards this humble plot
and give us time enough to thrive?
And Sweetest Assiduity may you take my hand
and guide me with the care of these that are most precious:
these fetal aspirations with backs curved and limbs folded underneath and waiting
Waiting for the next harvest.