The Erstwhile Seed

I watch as the erstwhile seed makes it journey to pastures new,

Unhindered by the day to day stresses suffered by man,

Floating  on a gentle breeze against a glorious backdrop of summer sun and the great English meadow.

It fears not where it lands,

It fears not if another breeze shall carry it further of the place it first lands,

It may be but a tiny seed but it fears nothing and has no need to ask for another’s hand.

I’m momentarily distracted and I watch as butterflies dance over glorious colours of white and pink,

Effortlessly gliding past a thousand and one shades of green.

I turn my attention back to the erstwhile seed but by now it’s long gone.

Which one was mine of all the hundreds floating by?

None of them are mine because they are all free in a way I will never be before I die,

For the erstwhile seed is subject only to the summer wind and where it’s destined to fall.

One day that erstwhile seed will grow into a thing of nature’s beauty,

It will give way to hundreds more like it.

Always travelling, always free,

None ever stopping to think of you or me…