by Paul Cudenec, who reads it here

Something stirs within the seed
Which knows the time has come
To start to grow into the plant
Whose image sleeps ingrained

Something stirs within the seed
Which dreams of possibility
With definite shape and quality
But which may yet be denied
– by the absence of nourishing soil
– by climates unconducive
– by the appetites of beasts and parasites

Something stirs within the seed
And it reaches up towards the light
Hoping to become itself
But not knowing whether the world around
Will allow it to do so