The sprout, poem (106/365)

I planted a seed
And for weeks
I waited for something
To grow
I had hoped
For something
Perhaps a full plant
But another week
Nothing
I retraced all of my steps
The soil, the water,
I even thought of the seed
Maybe it was a bad one
Never meant to make anything
And I started to question the growth
Why isn’t this working
I lost faith in the process
and moved the plant
On a lower shelf
And placed on the shelf
Above some daisies
And I watered them
And I forgot about the seed
And I forgot about my dreams
Of planting anything
And I just thought I can only
From now on
handle premade flowers
And I stopped watering the seed
And I lost hope
I called myself a botanist no longer
Because the plant didn’t sprout
My thumbs no longer possess magic
And I slowly started settling
Till I could no longer find me
In my garden
but instead the plants of others
Watering the daisies
I dropped a glove
And I below
And I saw a sprout from the seed
I had forgotten about
The over flow of water from daisies
Kept it alive
And that’s when
I realized I just should have
Trust the process
And I moved the sprout up
And I started to dream again
Allowing me and the sprout
The sunshine we needed