You plant the buds inside me,
and flowers slowly rise,
dripping with honey and grace,
bursting with knowledge lasting generations.
You cultivate those dreams that spring up inside me.
You pollinate and bless each
and every aspiration, cradling them
until they bear their own seeds to be
swept away by the wind. They land in some
lucky field. Rich grass gets to behold
the fruit of our labors, some other
hands get to rock our legacy
back and forth.