They call it the projects for a reason,

Because it's something to be worked on that will come to completion

But I've been questioning the date of submission,

An assignment longing to be graded.

The dreams of a 4.0 GPA seemed all too faded

Like, these streets that house the seeds of potential.

Scattered by the wayside, hopes are abandoned,

The earth beneath it shaken by the plough

Watered by the opinions of the years that chair the round tables

But these seeds fail to flourish.

As Autumn arrives just a little too early

Trees finally wave farewell,

Their colours a reminder that sometimes there is beauty in leaving

Than hanging on and waiting for things to change,

Like seasons give reason to change.

They say a graveyard is the richest place on earth,

The treasures of great minds and impeccable abilities that did not have the chance to develop into lawyers, doctors, artists, and aspiring Kobes,

Dead before they were even alive.

These are the seeds

Their soil, watered by the blood of our brothers.

It doesn't take a biologist to know that dead things can’t grow!

Just those who have lived life long enough to witness that the things we choose not to do are just as important as that which we do.

An expecting mother doesn’t passively await the birth of her child

She knows it’s coming so she prepares,

Just like we prepare for a brighter future for Firgrove,

Despite the current aches and pains there’s a lot more to gain.

It’s the people that keep Connections alive.

Count every day that this project is stalled, another day a life is lost.

Quit taking extensions without requesting them,

Procrastination is the illusion of having more time than you actually do.

This project is well overdue

At this point I don’t care if you answer me,

Because there is One you will eventually have to give account to.