Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member. Mary Bolton Mar As I walk down my driveway, past the seemingly endless field of green, sprinkled with little purple weeds, dotted with clumps of yellow daffodils, I think about how much I love flowers.
Roses are my favorites, but daisies and wildflowers are a close second, I think. I like to think of myself as a flower. It would make sense, seeing as my spirit is as free as the wind that blows the petals across the fields of green. I am a wildflower. I am the flower, firmly rooted to the ground, unable to escape. My roots, they are tangled, and mangled, and torn, and broken, but strong. Like chains, they keep me here where the seed was planted.
I am a wildflower, trapped in a garden of weeds. We are not meant for the garden. Oh no! Not when there are fields, and pastures, and valleys, and hills, and mountains out there. Here in the garden, we get food and water, and daily care. But there in the world! That is where I am meant to be! When I see the birds flying overhead I shake with jealousy. I feel the wind swaying me back and forth, as if it is calling me.
Let the world see your beauty, while you see the beauty of the world. I want to sing with the sky. Continue reading Casey Aug Wildflower I found you in the desert And in the murky gulch Through the trees And in between The mountains' ivory clutch Wildflower I've put you in my home And my faucet is the draught With which you drink Like river stream And early morning trout Wildflower I have made a mistake You grow on hills Where we don't stay But in my house What saves now kills Wildflower I let you go.
Amour de Monet May This is my biography Olivia Daniels Oct Pink-haired Wildflower. Pink-Haired Wildflower I know you. I see you. You glitter shining vibrantly like the stud in your nose. You smile so easily and laugh with no care in the world.
