On the Naivety of Youth

On the Naivety of Youth We were once flowers With painted petals and new-green stalks Who turned to the sky And drank from the sun But we were flowers Whose shallow roots Were only anchored By loose soil and dumb luck We were still flowers when April came as April does And dislodged us With her waterlogged embrace We watched As she wiped away the pigment of our petals With her watery fingers We wept As her watercolor creek captured What little soil secured Our shallow roots We were no longer flowers When her springtime sea Had ceased it tsunami And left us sodden We were no longer flowers When we found ourselves Unable to adapt to being Uprooted and untethered