Longing to Live

Little red rocks rest in the rain. Seeds soar from the sky and cement Themselves in the tiny, trembling Gaps in the grimy gravel. Seeds never start to sprout Even with extra energy Because of the banging beasts. Roots reach for a rudiment, But denied due to the drumming Of friends fleeting on foot. Some seeds never see a start, Others occasionally open, Making marvelous mums in the meadow.