If our dear seed should fall on rough terrain
And never find a furrow waiting for
And kick around forever wanting rain
A promise posed and waiting, never more
If our dear child should never learn a word
And all our voices clatter in his ears
And beat like wicked drumming overheard
And leave him wretched, cowering in fear
If our dear home should fall around our feet
A splintered mess of planks and broken beams
And all it never was would never be
A fiction failing at its hopeful seams
Then dearly I won’t condescend to grieve
But sleep within the sweetness I believe
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