Golden grains, a holy harvest
hovering on fruitful lips;
words are pollen, rich with meaning,
pregnant with potential scripts
that sow within a listening soul
a seed of hope – embryo
which, when implanted in a heart
take root, sprout,and start to grow.
If unspoken, pollen withers,
loses ground, and starts to die;
if too forceful, it will spatter,
staining as it whizzes by.
If applied as God intended,
spread by gentle breeze or art –
pollen counts, and reproduces
life and health and growth by heart.