Camphor Seed

A small seed and sturdy,

Carried on to questionable soil,

A precious windfall among the rocks.

But who will save it by his toil?

The stones must be turned and broken

With faith in the black sphere.

It lies on the warm earth, a token

Promising that something greater is near.

With patience he must watch the little sprouts,

The soil is dry, and yet it grows.

The seed is good.

He nourishes the seed, protects it well,

Maintains it well in soil rooted.

His diligence helps it toward heaven swell

As it grows a gorgeous tree.

Mighty, mysterious, it reaches up,

It spreads its branches wide.

The seed is good.

It was meant for majesty

And so grows and grows,

Gratifying his long-suffering.

For Santiago Esquina's rendition of a Camphor Tree