Am yisroel, your poem reads so naturally that it’s easy to miss the fact that it’s a poem.
I don’t often right poems, and definitely not emotional ones. But for the sake of introducing another attitude I’ll dedicate one to the cause:
Was I really smooth and round
Not this scraggly shriveled thing
Was I at all more profound
Like the kind of thing that make poets sing
It’s so hard to face the present
With that glamorous past
Like a squire becoming a peasant
And yet it all happened so fast
So dark and damp, at times muddy
There’s a lad stepping above here
I’m sure he can’t see me, now could he
Not in this shape even if he’s near
In case you haven’t figured it out
I was placed on soft top soil
I’m waiting my turn to sprout
That would be worth all my toil
Now the sun has come out to shine
The day after a pleasant rain
It sure is a pleasure of mine
It all was to my benefit and gain
First a seed will decay and rot
When it seems like it all disappeared
Only then bursts forth the full shot
Assisted by the One who had cared