One Wild Flower

A wild flower, grew up through a crack in the pavement, I wondered, why already not trampled by so many preoccupied feet? Sat I down on a park-bench, further pondering this yellow charmer, to which I cordially gave greet -- “little tenant,” oh just missed another! Thinking I saw it, knowingly parry aside; (one wild flower, persistent, determined not its beauty to hide.) Unaware came a team of training joggers, in colorful, striped briefs; legs and tennis shoes thoughtlessly-trouncing-everywhere – Feared I this brave little trooper had finally been dealt its fatal wild share -- the wind of the runners' healthful, self-indulgent passing, seemed more a cyclone of careless, petulant stomping – no sense a little blossom would they spare! Deeply rooted in soil, it could not retreat, without vocal cords it could not plead a shriek – could not shield itself from such crushing, annihilating defeat. Sat there I a sad bit longer -- would not dare open my eyes, felt a tear slipping, my heart seeming knee-deep in morbid dripping. Smeared blossom, and grieving sunbeams, saw I like a funeral's dark-arm-band – a segment of my bright world, had just tragically ended...gone with the lone blossom's, last futile, floral stand – till a child opened my eyes, making me take peak, a sweet little voice, not the least tinge bleak, as they carefully parted: “Oh mother, isn’t that dandelion so dashingly chic!?