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!?
Copyright ©
Joe Dimino
|