Silent Work

Small.

You started off so small.

No roots, no plan, no place to call your own.

Scattered

by others, into places you may

not have chosen.

Dirty, unkempt, this place where you have landed.

But you work,

you grow those roots,

dig down deep

into dirt that knows how to grab hold and keep you down.

This place that stains the soul

is good for something.

"I think I'll stay."

Light.

Dark.

Day.

Night.

On and on this goes,

while you,

ignored,

keep at your silent work. 

This will take time.

Grow

and

grow

and

grow.

Until someone notices

you've grown tall, strong, beautiful.

You were small, but you were planted.

Roots grown deep, much fruit to bear.

"I think I'll stay."