I am a seed in the dust,
A live root bedded in night,
And I am filled with a lust
For something the worms call light.

From what seed-pod I was blown
Matters little to me,
Why and by whom I was sown
Or what the reaping may be.

I only wait for my hour
When I shall be done with night,
When I shall thrill into flower
And drink till I die of light.

From On a Grey Thread (Will Ransom, 1923) by Elsa Gidlow. This poem is in the public domain.