you leave me on the roadside as if you were a rose.
by fern
you wish to sell me roses
my pocket tells me queen annes lace
you dream for something delicate
my hands accustomed for rough
you ache with quiet longing
but i hear your untold groans
your desires are not unique
not a rose within the weeds
your plight is universal
unwanted in our garden
be gentle with our hearts
that attempt to ease your woes
flowers and weeds both grow by the roadside
each bloom in spring from sun
you are not unique within this life
roots, stems, pollen, pedals, blossoms.