There For the Picking

Beyond the fence are wild strawberries, juicy and wise. Sunshine so glorious it makes tears come to my eyes. Beyond the fence is lavender, which blows prettily in a breeze. There for the picking, and the admiration, if you please. Beyond the fence are sunflowers with large orbs in pretty brown. Their petals are precisely pointed, geometric shapes best found. I can see all this from my cell, I also see a beautiful sky. I am using my imagination for I know I will not be out before I die. I imagine Queen Anne’s lace, red poppies, morning glories in pink. I visualize tiny lady bugs, grasshoppers, and animals like mink. I see baby raccoons and opossums hiding from eagles on high. I picture all of this, and an occasional bunny, hopping. Oh, my! There will be marigolds being strangled by ivy against the fence, If I was over there, I would save it, and the wild roses, so dense. If I could but be released for just one day, a mere twenty-four hours I would pull all up the choking weeds, release these pretty flowers. Unfortunately, I strangled a few girls, big deal I know But they are keeping me locked up to make a big show. To keep me here forever, is madness I say. I could save some flowers if they let out for one measly day.