seeds

Sometimes I stop on my way home and watch the children play,
And I wonder if they wonder what they'll be some day.
Some will dream a big dream and make it all come true, while others go on dreaming of things they'll never do.

We're all just seeds.
In God's hands.
We start the same, and where we land, is sometimes fertile soil, and sometimes sand.
We're all just seeds in God's hands.

I saw a friend the other day I hardly recognized.
He'd done a lot of living since I'd last looked in his eyes.
He told his tale of how he'd failed the lessons he'd been taught
but he offered no excuses and he left me with this thought.

We're all just seeds.
In God's hands.
We start the same, and where we land, is sometimes fertile soil, and sometimes sand.
We're all just seeds in God's hands.

And as I'm standing at a crossroads once again, I'm reminded we're all the same when we begin, and in the end . . .

We're all just seeds.
In God's hands.
We start the same, and where we land, is sometimes fertile soil, and sometimes sand. We're all just seeds in God's hands.