Gorgeous poem, Andrew.
A dear old friend of mine always used to insist to me that there has always been the same ratio of sanity to insanity in the world, that in all days (both current and ancient) there was the same proportion of people who were constructive to those who were destructive, that it never seemed to change. Since the ratio is skewed toward the destructive, it could seem a dire warning. But the permanence of that relation argues in favor of hope, the same hope that is found in this poem. Seeds are tiniest of things, but they are powerful survivors. Though we may need on some deeper level to learn the lessons of impermanence, I also believe that form migrates. Transformation is painful, yes, but even a landscape without us may prove to be full of seed-song.