a quiet seed

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There is a quiet seed of grief
that’s planted deep within my heart.
It’s fed by gentle streams that weep
in want of peace, a place apart.

At times it sleeps, when friends abound,
when life is sweet and love is found;
when I am glad to be at rest
for quiet seeds speak not of death.

But still it sits, in soils dark.
It needs not speak; it weighs its part.

For still in laughter hearts may ache,
for joy may end in sorrow,

For who but me will come to miss
the children gone

Tomorrow?

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