The Cold

As the crop waits to ripen for harvest, my heart waits for you.
In the cold of winter when you wilt from lack of strength, it is me you long for.

The green growth is inseparably bound to the the dark roots as I am to you.
Among all of the toxic pesticides, there you lie.
You yield no good crop.

Yet as the seasons change the cold will draw me near to you–for I am bound.
As you strain to submerge yourself into the ground you take me with you.
But in hiding from the cold you are missing out on life.

While the seasons work to bring new experiences, you cease to learn how to grow.
For so long I delivered you what it was that you needed.
If you needed strength, summer came.
When you needed time to rest before your bloom, winter was delivered.

The green growth made no difference at harvest time.
The roots that were bound to the green plant were black as night and ground into the earth–unable to be detached.
The dark ways of the soil are all you know.
Even as the seasons bring an abundance of love and warmth you will still be the most familiar with the cold of winter.

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