The Sleeping Dream of the Seed

In a shell of waiting, fiber and quiet,
lies the seed, not dead but listening deep.
It sees no sun, nor hears the joyful riot,
but an entire forest within its heart does keep.

Without leaves or branches, without a single bloom,
it knows the scent that one day will grace the earth.
Mute guardian of all its inner gloom,
a dark forest already shows its birth.

It is not memory that sustains its might,
nor ancient echo of roots prepared to grow;
but the future itself held within the light,
paints in the darkness peaks and springs aglow.