The place of a red, roadside wild flower
Nestled indistinctly between the blades of grass;
Winter in the rear view, and Spring within the hour
The flower attempts to grow just as fast,
But to no avail -- the winds are too cold still.
The flower eagerly awaits it's blossoming chance
When the winds are no longer chilled.
The time has not yet come for a flower dance.
Neglected, beaten down, and ungrown,
The flower lost its will to live.
No nurturing spirit that could have sown
The damaged seed in that flower's ribs...
Consider the garden that you may have.
One day, one flower, might be in the past.