Hard to Admire

I’ve lived life as a
weed in the field.

Bright yellow, green,
but a weed, forever still.

Hard to admire
and much harder to kill,
my life was that
of a weed in the field.

Then came the fateful day…

I had aged, my yellow… grey.

Plucked from the sand
by the most delicate hands,
I felt the first breeze
carry my worries away.

To earth, each corner,
North, South, East, and West,
and all the middling-ground
between, my seeds were
carried as the wind would please.

I am everywhere now,
growth in cycles, green,
yellow-to-grey, and lastly,
those downy white seeds,
carried by the wind
to keep account,
and make measure,
of each passing day.


©️ CG Tenpenny, 2018.

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