Away are the times of nothing but sunflowers growing.
Roots grown in but not branched out. Long enough to be nourished, long enough to be ripped out.
But yet, who am I?
Who am I to question the God and his definitive end of being derooted.
Is there richer soil in my future?
Would God even question that he is making the thought-out decision
or is he a nothing more than a toddler's hand wandering in the garden of life,
unsure of what's to come next.