Over the mountain
Or in the Dense forest,
Descending seeds of tree.
On the mother earth.
With the rain drops-
They do grow.
With-
Hopes of color,
In the bright dawn,
With Breeze of east,
They do grow.
Hidden under
The Carpet of dry leaves,
Near the trunk,
Safe and sound.
They do grow.
The cold nights.
And awaited mornings,
Safe in earth’s womb.
In the beautiful nature
They do grow.
Img Courtesy :http://www.disciplesofchrist.us/
@Prem Sir,
Nice poem.
rgds.