Humble does the sower plant,

Filling his hand with seeded mind.

Lovingly does he cast the multitude of potential,

Given to him from radiant fruit.

Little shelled children yearning to grow,

To reach their hands to the holy gates.

Some cast onto hardened stone,

Sending no roots down to hold,

Nor sprouting their being to heaven.

Others fall into the sadistic thorn,

Who choke the seed and send them to the worm to feed.

Embraced are those who are cast onto softened land,

Given light and water to become a forest haven,

Strong they hold against the winds of vice,

Birthing fruits for the sowers hoe.

These are the grounds of a human heart,

Of a human soul..