The Lonely Weed
Here
I stand
by myself,
growing inside
the tiny crack of
the sidewalk in which I
took root; countless feet I spy
strolling past me, but I escape
being tread on, for I stand close by
a wall of stone, so sad and so alone.
I can see others, yellow like myself
clustered together like happy friends
until they get cursed as weeds and
yanked up! We are just as loved
by bees as those garden
blooms are. At what cost
have I remained
here - lonely
though still
safe?
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