Wildflower – she is a wildflower

When the soft wind blows and the coyote cries

Where the harsh sky howls and the angels don’t fly

A pale tumbleweed rolls by,

The crack of thunder moans

And the dirt flies.

That’s when she comes, she’s a wildflower

Landing where the wind plants her seed,

Thriving in the water of rutted dirt,

Not really meant to be anywhere particular.

Her fate is determined by Mother Nature’s heed,

By the wind that pulls her and pushes her and carries her along

The lone wildflower flies, with no say at all.

She’s whimsical and free and dainty as can be

She dangles her petals by the sea,

In mountains, and under trees, she plants her roots

She takes over fields and deserts and mountains and seas,

She comes in yellow and pink and purple and green

And tickles your nose, and makes you sneeze.

She is unwanted and foreign, an intruder to fields

She is the lone sparkling color on the desert floor.

Beaten and poisoned and plucked till the end, the wildflower is pretty and free

But in the end, she’s only just a weed.