William Allen

OUT OF SEASON

Tilling the Earth with hopes of reaping a blessing. That was not a thought in my conception. I intruded a struggling garden out of season. Weeds do not ask for permission they grow until checked. What type of future could I be promised if any? Can bare hands move Earth to plant a crop worthy of harvesting? My beginning was shaped in lost hopes and dreams my foundation was beautiful. So how could I come forth with dreams and hope? Life had to be put on pause for me to come into this world. I did not ask for the pain you had to endure just for me to smile.