She digs.
Not just dirt—
but thoughts.
Dreams.
Questions.

The sun’s warm,
the flowers are loud with colour,
and her hands are busy
but her mind’s somewhere else.

What will I be?
She asks the soil,
the sky,
the petals that don’t answer
but still bloom.

A teacher?
A traveller?
Someone who writes poems
on the backs of seed packets
and leaves them in cafés?

She doesn’t know.
Not yet.
But she knows how to care—
how to coax life from quiet places,
how to wait,
how to hope.

And maybe that’s enough for now.
To plant something.
To water it.
To believe it’ll grow.

Because maybe
what she’ll be
isn’t a job,
or a title,
but a feeling—
like sunlight,
or kindness,
or the way flowers lean toward her
as if they already know.

This poem begins in a garden but is really about growing into who we become. A young girl, hands in the soil, wonders what her future holds. The flowers never answer, yet they bloom anyway. It’s a quiet reflection on hope, growth, and the courage to embrace life’s possibilities without knowing where they will lead.

#Poetry #GrowingUp #Hope #NaturePoetry #SelfDiscovery #LongJohnWrites