life

 

Flowers trampled into mud.
Voiceless gardens cannot scream,
so their pain sinks deep . . . . .

Soft and gentle hothouse plant,
bared to blasting, stripping winds.
Life retreats, and shrinks . . . . .

Just some battered stems and roots.
Overlooked, forgotten, but
yet the core's still green . . . . .

 

(© 1996-2008 Maria L. Grist)

 

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