Homeless people are seeds
spread on an unknown, bare, deserted land.

The Fortune Goddess may grant her smile
to those seeds on the surface
and send them to a moist land.

But those hidden underground are doomed to darkness
and might be buried for generations.
They sit restlessly,
awaiting someone to loosen the soil
so that they can breathe,
so that they can bathe
under the kindness of rain.

They envy the towering redwood in the National Parks
and the lavender bush in people's yards,
but all they aspire to now is just a pot of new mud
to sprout, to grow roots, and to develop into plants.

They know they need patience,
and they don't mind waiting for a little longer,
as long as the goddess,
along with the universe,
never forget about them.