As the bamboo slowly grows, its verdant leaves effusing out
into the drafty room
And as it stands at angle in glass, and drinks up time and sand
The children pass it, and they smile at that,
That a shoot would grow in a jar
And as I see them with their globular eyes, with their countenances all luminous in glow
I think about the men and women which stand, just beneath the earth and stone.
For when one plants a child in fertile loam,
There is no knowing what will grow.
Be it a shoot, or be it an oak, or be it a redwood sequoia
Let us be content and nurture such folk, for it is they who shall grow in the world.
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