C H Sund - Spread not these Seeds

Oh, the grateful flowers bloom this spring day
from ground stained and moist, forever dark.
Costly the price for rare beauties shown.

The seeds so bright and strong gave all
to soils of distant lands, untended way too long.
What price we pay to spread our visions!

Why must we view our flowers there?
Why must we tend these distant lands?
Why must we give our souls away?

Our tears fill our lands yet no seeds we have
barren now, once rich and fertile soil.
Who will give us seeds to sow?

C H Sund

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