Wherefore do we go now,
our homes but tattered heaps
of hope sowed so long ago,
our pockets f
ull of flower seeds
tearing at the seems to grow
up from the refuse and turn
their tendered faced petals
to the dawning sun again.
9 June 06
Written to be paired with a necklace made for WRBH's Radio for the Blind and Print Handicapped yearly fundraising auction.
