That which is in me
I placed there long ago.
I cannot know the reason.
What remains is the feeling
an intuition of a soul my own.
It is a feeling of nurturing
the motherhood of the mind.
Therefore let me tend to it
as one tends a garden. Let me
foster its growth, according
to the love I afford all things
hoping that it shall bear fruit
however long it must ripen.
Let me tend to it all my days.
Even if it shall bear no fruit.
R. Charboneau
Artwork: Ivan Kramskoy – Christ in the Wilderness (1872)
Robert Charboneau. 
I’m reading this poem again & again
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks Jarah! I think that’s the nicest compliment you can give a writer.
LikeLiked by 1 person
keep writing….!!!
LikeLiked by 1 person
I will, but that means you must too!!!
LikeLiked by 1 person
yeah!!writing is like my breath☺️
LikeLiked by 1 person
That’s a great way to describe it. I feel the same.
LikeLiked by 1 person