She cracked the dry seed pod open,
tipped the tiny black seeds into my hand,
closing my fingers around them—
a secret we both knew would not grow here.
Did she close my fingers to keep them safe,
or to make sure that I would feel them slip away?
I let go of the seeds—
but I kept the shape of her fingers closed around mine.
Shared with Poets and Storytellers United #229 – Letting go
Today’s Daily Stoic poem:

This is beautiful Shaun, I won’t remember all the words later but as I read your verse this morning, your words have touched my emotions and that feeling lingers 💞Suzanne
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Wow! Thanks Suzanne 🙏
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How lovely, and how intriguing!
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Thanks Rosemary 🙏
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The image of the seeds slipping away yet the touch remaining is so moving. Beautiful poem
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Thanks so much Marja 🙏
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I love that question
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Thanks Paul 🙏
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Very welcome Shaun ❤️
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Mysteriously beautiful.
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Thanks 🙏
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Mysteriously beautiful.
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I love how you shade the darkness with such beautiful imagery and flow – Jae
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Thanks Jae 🙏
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I enjoyed reading your poem ~~~ the mystery intrigues.
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