the four little seeds planted on the sill,
growing fast and green, moving with the sun.
patiently watch as they grow, to wait ‘til
they are finished growing, when they are done.
but nothing is to plan as was wanted,
for when one falls ill, soon the next do too.
uncaring of how they were so vaunted,
the seeds on the sill don’t grow, they are blue.
plucked screaming from their earth went the dyad,
for they were selfish, limiting their peers.
the other two who remain, far more glad,
for now they have space to grow, so they cheer.
the plant’s propriety is now revealed.
they hardly are alarmed by this truncation,
a lacuna, two of their own are gone,
simply now bathe the plants in rich sanguine.
the four little seeds, reduced to two, sit
upon the sill and bloom, for now they fit.
