Seeds — for Connie

Photo by Jonathan Kemper on Unsplash

Seeds we plant, unknowingly,
in the flat lands of the past,
bloom in least expected places:
in shadow, rain and clay; unintended,
they disperse, gather to a greatness,
perambulate on windy days, follow
custom, mulch. Humans harvest,
load, deliver, sell, eat. Cows chew the cud,
create protein, stare, moo amicably, 
in blessed ignorance of the slaughter
house to come. Seeds have no inkling
of death, nothing to spoil their appetite
for water, light, photosynthesis.
They disdain AI, have learnt to fly,
settle into a groove, grow a modus 
operandi, and never die. 

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