Prepared to Sow

The treasure's curse, 
flying upon a nest,
confined to a purse,
never finding rest.

It, crawling alone,
sentenced to stone,
all solace is gone,
a treasure's pawn. 

It, meant to grow, 
following a scent,
ending as a cent, 
is there a plough?

Drop such treasure,
be beyond measure,
yourself to the plow,
be prepared to sow.  

What is there for us to sow? A life of fulfillment, one that can’t be bought. The treasure’s curse is that one can’t always have what we want forever as pleasure. Even if you do obtain something, you must realize that that something will eventually fade away. The treasure with no curse is wonder. If your eyes see with wonder, then as it comes, it goes. There is no need to linger to its pleasure. In realizing such ephemerality, we rejoice; as a blooming flower that enjoys its unfolding until it is time to go but what been sowed stays with us.