maybe it will never change

maybe we will still be flowers on the side of the road

still no place to call home

but still flowing in our veins is the wildness and adventure that

we’ve always known to be

we would be gleaming with vivd colors.

still trying to survive


the droughts
the rains
the storms
the heat
the wind
the bitter cold

when winter comes along, and someone doesn’t stop to pick you next and we will be left

to wilt

forgotten

something once so beautiful and fragile

now lifeless and limp.

r. Powell