This is my letter to the world
That oftimes writes to me
In shiny college brochures
That beg, persistently.
The postmarked guides coerce,
Convince me through and through
That in my grades they see my dreams--
They tell me we know you.
But who am I? I do not know.
My hopes are strung like stars.
Gardening delights me,
As do words and canning jars.
But there's so much more to who I am
And who I'll grow to be.
I'm learning now, more, day by day,
This quiet reality.
Though I've acolades apleanty,
My garden teaches me:
I see whispered through the springtime blooms
Truths of summertime's beauty.
Just as the blossoms peak above
The dirt and mounds and mess
That are among my garden,
I love them nothing less.
I hope the same of me will ring
True later in my life.
For now I dream for love and faith;
To bloom through coming strife.
So this is my letter to the world
That sometimes writes to me:
May we find, today and on,
Ourselves, to a greater degree.