XXI

XXI

A sagely saint once planted a seed.
He fed it earth, and dug it deep.
In winter's thaw he kept it warm.
And cared for it in autumn.

When the seed broke free, it wept.
And wailed at having been born.
Shed leaves in spring out of spite.
And split into two like cotton.

The onlookers looked at its leaves.
All wilt and crooked and dead.
At its forlorn form and its fragile stem.
Soon to be gone and forgotten.

Why plant a sapling in terrible neglect?
They said: Did you toil at all?

The farmer replied: what worth is my toil-when the seed, at its core, is rotten?