Resurrection

Unless a grain of wheat is buried in the ground, dead to the world,
It is never any more than a grain of wheat
And the code for a new crop
Can't be realised

Every seed is a miracle
The plan for a forest
Hidden in such an unassuming shell
And whether buried with tenderness
Or discarded and forgotten
Always the possibility of life
Creeping
then, bursting forth

Give me the gardener farmer's eye
Who sees potential in bare ground
Who honours the smallest of beginnings
Knows the season of quietus is not to be despised
Knows that waiting is necessary
For the joy to come
Knows that
Hope is meaningless if we already know the ending

Every morning is a resurrection
Ingrained into the earth's DNA
Our skin – even
Healing and renewing
While we move and love and grieve, unaware
We are made of dust and stars
And after the fire, after the floods
Life is tenacious
And stubbornly new shoots will appear

There's no resurrection without death
No spring without winter
No ascent without descent
First, perhaps we must fall
First, perhaps we must let go

Unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies,
It remains only a single seed.
But if it dies, it multiplies

I wrote this for our monthly Penzance Sunday Speakeasy - the theme was resurrection. My ponderings were that the story of Resurrection is found all around us. The beginning and the ending of the poem is taken from John 12:24