Not reaping what I sow

Some I will reap,

though not of my sowing.

The others will keep.

There’s  no knowing

to whom the last fruit will fall.

 

Maybe birds peck it

or maybe a squirrel;

a child could visit

and tear off and swivel

it over the garden wall.

 

Seeds I plant here -

if they’re coaxed to sprout -

with the passage of years

will fruit no doubt.

But not for me those harvests.

 

For all and one

welcomed to the orchard,

the fruits will ripen

and will be offered

after me to future guests.

In a specially jelly-kneed thanksgiving today for those who have sowed for me for years and years,  and the grace and favour I reap consequently.