Not bound by careful rows,
nor trimmed to please the eye,
you bloom where the wind has carried
your stubborn little seed.
No gardener claims you,
yet the earth still cradles your roots.
The sun does not measure
your worth against the rosesâ
it warms you just the same.
Be the burst of yellow
in a field of practiced red,
a reminder that beauty thrives
in the unexpected,
that even among perfection,...