Poem by Johnny Hart, of B.C. cartoons.

The Seed

by Wiley

A seed is such a miraculous thing,
   it can sit on a shelf forever. 
But how it knows what to do when it's stuck in the ground,
   is really what makes it quite clever.
It draws up nutrients from the soil through it's roots,
   and gathers it's force from the sun.
It puts forth a whole lot of blossoms and fruit, 
   then RESEEDS itself when it's done.
Who programmed the seed to know just what to do?
And who put the sun in the sky?
And who put the food in the dirt, for the roots?
And who told the bees to come by?
And who makes the water to fall from above,
to refresh and make everything pure?
Perhaps all of this is a product of love.
And perhaps it happened by chance.
				Yeah, sure.

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