I feel the need

To grow out my stems

And be plucked from

This field of wheat

My roots are planted on.

I sense a change of season coming-

The wind tells me so.

Though, the stretch makes my petals wilt.

I understand,

That, I need to nestle in patience!

Because, I too, someday

Will see my seeds ripen in a destined sunlight.

And, in that fruitful moment,

When I flourish like the rest,

And be amongst the blooms and harvest.

I can thank myself-

For falling in line.