Wildflower
A wildflower grows on the cobblestoned streets of this dingy town,
Among the dirt and debris left behind by the seasons.
A misplaced beauty working her way up among the cracks between
the rocks of this place she calls home.
About her, the hustle and bustle of life worms its way in and out of
the shops, searching for refinement and riches.
The flower shop with its roses, tulips, and lilies well cared for by
the hand of the man who procures them.
She wonders what the touch of his hand might mean, the potted rich soil,
and frequently bath of water. To be cared for.
She waits ever the patient instead for drops of rain, a word of kindness
from a world lording above her on these hallowed streets.
Ignored, overlooked and unadmired. She, the common girl of the flower
kingdom, to simple to be dressed in the gown of the rose.
Too wilted and torn to be worthy of the vibrant colors of the tulip,
and nowhere exotic enough to be the lily. she, the wildflower.
She grows up below the broken walls caused by the destruction
of her cities life, in a land once ravaged by war and worry.
Her head held high, her arms stretched out, ever waiting for her rain.
For her's is not a story of defeat, but the promise of victory.
For when the flowers of the shop are put away each night and the shop closes,
she stands alone with the evening breeze on her face.
Clothed the way the gods saw fit and for this brief moment, she feels
just beautiful enough not to be seen as common.
Were any to love her, any to hold her, any to give her the time of day,
or a moment in a million moments, they'd have her forever.
she like the spirit of our city, rebuilt. she rises still, she grows still, to cut her low
is to stunt her, but only for the season, only for the now.
She's surely lost love in her day, but love is found where -it- chooses
to be, not always where -we- choose it to be.
.....uncompromising.......
Some things of beauty were meant to last while others fade
....and wildflowers grow where they will.
(((poem wrote for a story after a town was destroyed by war, on a forum I attend. It took first place out of several applicants. But here it reminds me of my poem about the pine tree in winter. Along the same lines of elegance in a woman. This more about the poorer girl, neglected and overlooked... a statement that all women are beautiful, no matter their station or situation)
Copyright © Jesse Zerlaut | Year Posted 2017
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