Growth

GERTRUDE RING.

Do you suppose the tiny, struggling sprout
In some bleak spot, some barren, stony waste,
Knows inward joy that it gains, day by day,
A greener color from the sun's warm ray,
Feels gratitude that it makes better haste,
Measuring increase by some mark about?

It seems of kindred since I broke the clay—
Burst the poor, sterile soil of senseless lies,
Drawn by the warmth of Soul to add in height
And color, as I grow toward the light,
Until my view is widened to where rise
Comrades who signal to me on the way.