Monday, March 28, 2005

How does your garden grow

Kids are fascinated by seeds. I don't completely understand it, but I think it has something to do with the miracle that happens when a seed becomes a plant. You push the tiny dot into soft, black soil, and sit around waiting, hoping, wondering what's going to happen. Planting and growing seeds reminds me a little of a great poem that has really affected me in the past few weeks. Mary Ann Evans (under the pseudonym of George Eliot) wrote a poem called Count That Day Lost:

If you sit down at set of sun
And count the acts that you have done,
And, counting, find
One self-denying deed, one word
That eased the heart of him who heard,
One glance most kind
That fell like sunshine where it went --
Then you may count that day well spent.

But if, through all the livelong day,
You've cheered no heart, by yea or nay --
If, through it all
You've nothing done that you can trace
That brought the sunshine to one face--
No act most small
That helped some soul and nothing cost --
Then count that day as worse than lost
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