The past is the soil from which we grow,
A place of rocks or sweet fertility,
But we must plant our roots in it,
Take what we can and try to bloom.
We cannot change it but must thrive,
Must chose to see the rocks beneath,
And chose to ground our roots round these,
To give us strength, stability.
The future, harvest time will come,
When breath grows shallow in our chest,
When eyes grow dim yet see the more,
Of how we bloomed and touched the earth.
It is a place we can but see,
Dimly and yet subject to change,
A place we cannot fear but face,
Alone and separatewith love not fear.
The present is the place we grow,
It is the gift we give ourselves,
Whether by choice or circumstance,
What we do now affects the end.
So prune and train, and just let grow,
Stretch high towards the sky above,
Believe potential it is there,
And bloom no matter where you are.