Just outside the window
there was a little knoll,
where in my senior year of college
I watched the spring grass grow.
While I sat, the wind raced free
fluttering the green grass so expressively,
anticipating every promise
of what life had to hold -
sharing music's joy with children
like flowers to unfold.
I am not God who plants life's seeds
but went out to nourish, provide and weed,
and in the end I could sometimes see
them flourish ever so naturally.
With every spring I cannot wait
until the sun and rain will send
the warm wind blowing wistfully
over the land again;
and think of the students,
that in the end,
fulfilled the ambitions ideals portend
and honor the feelings
I once did hold
with the promise of watching
the spring grass grow.
