Treasure

The dirt is rich and black,
moist, alive with worms
and the first fruits of the garden.

Each day you have come here
to this sanctuary.
You have watched each plant grow,

their green stalks rising high,
living in faith that somewhere
under the teeming earth

there is treasure.

About this poem. 

It’s gardening season, and likely gardeners will relate to this. But beyond the garden, I think often our personal growth lies underneath the surface as well, just waiting for the harvest.

Tom