Beneath
a shade tree, hanging out alone,
I
strum my guitar, picking out a tune.
I
sip my juice and think of seeds I’ve sown.
Those
I’ve so long ignored will grow up soon.
I
feel a pang of sorrow for each seed,
and
regret as I watch them sprout and bloom.
I
hadn’t had the nerve to pay them heed
and
I realize the impending doom
will
fall on those deserving better care.
They
long for safety and security.
Instead,
the battles rage when I’m not there.
So
with each new day, do they think of me?
Do
they know they are precious to a ghost,
whose
fortune was to drown far from the coast?
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