I am like the tilled earth, where only one flower blooms,
but many roots from seeds within reach out without being seen.
While the rain cloud waters me down, I soak it all in, seeping into my veins.
For when I am made to harvest, I will reap the sweet fruit of my season.
I will face the beasts of burdens, and let them trudge all over me. Their labors leaving marks onto my once unmarked terrain.
For what was dirt to one man's eye will be the land I will sow my seeds in.
And while I am but barren now,
I dream of paradise grown.