Rockhollow Series: Spring-Heal
Fifteen of Thirty
Unique Words: Eighty-eight
I was quite feral in my youth
running wide landscapes of laid grain,
blissing out, in the wilds alone
laying lost in fresh Spring rain.
The wind would tear right through my youth
if choisya, arenaria and stachys hadn't been planted
and enjoying each day had not been wanted,
if roots hadn't dyed my raging spirit green.
Plants were unforgiving in my youth -
stroking my hair and finding truth
that some peace can be found despite circumstance,
with a plot, willing hands and the gift of time.
I pity and preserve parts of my youth
when dancing barefoot in your Spring 'shine
as though I accept I was feral and wild,
it is an emptiness no longer mine.