Wildflowers
Wildflowers
Your words scream out the relative cynicism
Of an age that doesn’t believe
In anything –
Not God nor Goodwill
Nor possibility:
You label me a Pollyanna,
Mary Sunshine,
And a fool
For believing –
For grasping onto every positive mystery,
For staking claim to promises
Made in an ancient land of promise;
But,
Remember, my friend,
When we both awaken
In the same morning
Weary of the greyness
Deep
Within that place
Where life breaths life,
I will look up with a wrinkled grin
To laugh out loud
Embracing life
In the wind
Blowing through early summered trees
Keeping watch for the coming of the rain
Nourishing
Wildflowers of the fields - on mountainsides -
Blooming in August.
Copyright © Sam Kauffman | Year Posted 2020
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