i may go to pieces
i may fall apart
i may  lose direction
and miss out on the mark

i may wander off the path
take a completely different road
end up further than i have
from what it is i know

i may look behind me
more often than i should
in a last ditch effort to find me
if i only could

i may give this a bit more thought
as it all comes into play
give awe and wonder to the four way stop
then choose another way

^

and the child of wind born innocence
chases butterflies to the edge,
gathering whispered weeds
of golden sheen,
singing in a lone sparrow’s sonnet,
soaring beyond the cliff,
sending silver lined
cloud bound wishes
to earth…below

Weeds are
my favorite plants.
Their bad reputations
attract me the most.
They persevere.
They are successful.
They teach me to disdain
the world's opinions.
They remind me it is good
to be on earth
for no other reasons than
the joy of sunshine and rain.
They live on the edge
where everything
interesting happens.
I am very much a **** myself.
Weeds are something you
can count on to be there.
Not many such anchors
in one life. Take a hold;
pull one out. It will be back.
Count on it.

  ~mce