Push past the matted brown grass,
Past the thickness that buries you.
Do not be deterred by your newness,
There is strength in your supple green.
Face the new day, new season.
Rejoice in being the first to rise up
To reclaim this land, reclaim yourself,
You, a child of the grasses that whisper
To the rabbits and fox that hide within.
The prairie holds the gentle secrets
Of the thistle, coneflower, and yarrow,
And those who know their names.
Blow with the wind, with purpose,
See where it carries you each new day.
Ride it like the seed of the milkweed,
Aloft and tender, covering new ground.
Alight gently, then move on again,
Borne by the desires of freedom
And the need to root and grow
So you can burst forth yet again.
No comments:
Post a Comment