Words sent out on the morning wind,
Headed downwind? A tailwind?
Or trapped in a swirling whirlwind?
Going nowhere in a headwind?

My words, like seeds in the wind?
Fertile ground, will they find?
Where will they land,
These seeds from my hand?

The hard, crusty path?
Oh, the aftermath…
In stout weeds and thorns?
The sower will mourn.

Ground of rocks and stones?
Blanched, as dead, dried bones!
Or on the good soil?
In prayer, I should toil.

(Matthew 13:1-23)