THE SEED
Fate of all my father
Fate now my own.
Desire is the winter,
Cruel in its contempt
For a solitary traveler.
Cold as the seed that dreams
Beneath the driving snow
And thirsts for spring to nurture its fruit.
Barren in its testament
This cold mantle mocks
Any stirring towards the sun,
And leaves the heart to thirst alone.
To thirst as the seed.
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