A Poem Dedicated to Stepparents
My Harvest
(Carol Lynn Pearson)
I did not plant you, true. But when the season is done, When the alternative prayers for sun and for rain are counted, When the pain of weeding And the pride of watching are through, Then I will hold you high, A shining sheaf above the thousand seeds grown wild. Not my planting, But, by heaven, My harvest - My child.
