December 23, 2016
Photo by David Wennerberg
A New Poem by Hilde Oleson
So tenderly, so frail
It pokes through the ground
Looking wounded, looking frightened.
A tiny seed still on its tip, slender stalk holding it
Wavering as if to ask
“Where am I?”
I hear its fragile voice asking,
“Is this where I belong?”
Ah little would-be flower
How well I know your quandary. I too have asked that question.
I guess we blossom where we were planted,
Or merely dropped. But this is where we are
So we must raise these drooping heads,
Seek out the sun and learn to thrive.
I look at you, so fragile and so weak and see
The flower you will grow to be.