I AM A WILDFLOWER
I am a wildflower, young and strong.
In poor, dry soil is where I belong.
My petals are as lovely as a prize-winning rose.
My dwelling place - a field where no one really goes.
I have no wealth about me
nor do I thrive in such,
for my beauty and my fragrance
do not require much.
The thistles and the thorns
are my neighbors and my friends.
We share and bear the portions
of sun and sod and rain.
And when my life is over,
just before I go,
a pod swells up inside of me
and falls into the snow.
I am a wildflower, dead and gone.
In cold, wet snow is where I belong.
I may not be as brawn as the fir at Yuletide cheer,
but my petals will be lovely sometime later on next year.
The sting of death can do no wrong
or so it seems to me.
I am a wildflower, young and strong
and evermore shall be.