Everything Is A Pumpkin After Midnight

Never think the harvest goes ungathered; Don’t think the crop is left in place to rot. Latent seeds lie in the ground, fermenting Gestation starting at some distant spot. Secret thoughts do not go creeping shoeless; Disguised intent does not go knocking blind. Everything will leave its very imprint Like a fossil frozen out of time. All things planted bloom inside our being; When the right day comes, they burst the skin. Then the tendencies harbored inside them Hidden no longer, bear the fruit within. The young and tender sprouts that soon are poking Fragile, pale green heads above the lime- Are riddles we can never hope to answer The offspring of the cultivated mind.