Wild Flower

(For A Son On Coming Out)

Our world is slow to appreciate

    the beauty in wild flowers—

Gardeners often root them out

    suspicious of their powers;

So as they grow, they learn to hide

    from gardeners like me—

To stay outside the garden gate

    (as frightening as that can be)

And there they stay, accepting fate—

    living as though lost—

But life itself soon draws them out

    regardless of the cost;

And then we find their bloom’s begun,

    in spite of all their guile,

And they start preening in the sun—

    or just looking for our smile—

Yet still we leave them to the frost,

    or mow them to the ground,

Consigning them to loneliness

    too painful to write down….

Hang on to life, wild flower,

    keep reaching for the sky,

With all your different charm

    we’ll pick you by-and-by;

We’ll plant you in our gardens,

    and grow you in our hearts;

We’ll give you space in every plot,

    and that is just a start:

Our gardens will grow wilder

    and very different too

And these, my dear wild flower,

    are my promises to you.

 

The very best gardens

    fill with beauty as it grows

And the true gardener

    loves all flowers as he finds them.

A Hill resident, the author believes that the appreciation of art should not be influenced by the vagaries or prejudices of biography.


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