Texas billboards wound my eyes
Every mile apart
They lure the cars on 35
To burgers and gas marts

But as I stretch my vision down
The line of road ahead
They're nullified when soon I spy
A mass of flower beds

They aren't the kind that Granny's find
And plant from catalogs
Always a disappointment when
They bear no fruit at all

No these are weaved among the weeds
Along the roadside ditch
They're wildflowers consisting of
Milk thistle perched by finch

Their purple orbs tall ornaments
Protruding, taking cue
From all the yellow yarrow that
Contrasts with robin blue

That's crowded thick among the mix
Craving all the attention
The blue bonnets that sit like hats
On stems that aren't worth mention

And like the bush 'twas burning on
The mountain of Sinai
The paintbrush named for Indians
With their head dresses thrive!

And as my mind reflects upon
This flower popping power
I never even notice that
The drive lasted for hours

Written by Sara Fielder © May 2013