Growing

I was first a seed, tucked quiet in the soil,

a whisper of stars waiting their turn to burn.

Spring cradled me in green arms,

dew like galaxies trembling on my skin.

Summer blazed, my laughter a comet’s tail,

the sky wide open, daring me to fly.

Autumn softened me into golden dust,

teaching that even endings glow with light.

Now I gaze at winter’s endless night,

yet see myself in the constellations,

a child of cycles, orbiting forward,

still blooming in the vastness of time.