We are all wildflowers.

WILDFLOWERS

We are all born as wildflowers
Strewn randomly across the rolling hills,
A soft blush on the face of youth,
Full of innocence, promise and grace;

Then softly time passes by on tiptoe,
So quiet one hardly notices any change
Until waking to the first frost of fall,
A map of wrinkles irrevocably in place;

Childhood has been left by the wayside,
Wild oats choked out the fragile blooms,
And ragged winds are blowing so hard
They become too much to face;

But miraculous as it may seem,
Sown deep within each weary heart,
Seeds of hope sprout anew each spring
Full of innocence, promise and grace.

- Bonnie Catherine Veblen