Uprooted

I am from the seeds dropped from familiar hands,

dug into the cigar box storing old memories,

sprinkled lightly onto the soil which bore me into this earth,

a new generation, rebirthed, regrown, renewed.

 

I will grow where I am planted, because uprooted flowers die

and find solace in my own company.

The earth is my home, Her dirt in my toes—

I sprouted here and here I flourish.

 

Young saplings mature into strong oaks,

remember: trust, respect, and determination

but reaching for a crown that’s not yours is a sin…

“You can’t squeeze blood from a turnip!”

 

Over time, my stem will strengthen and I will stand tall.

Although my limbs are too gangly, too gawky, too awkward,

growing tall is a part of life, so the sprouting years should be savored, inch by inch.

I’ll find a way to see the sun, and love my bumps and thorns.

 

The bees will come and I might get stung,

to cry is human, but not for long, because the world is kind.

I water my roots and stand tall once more

I am a rose with iron petals!

 

The seasons will change and people will pass,

so when picked up by the hands of my maker,

I trust that He will take me somewhere good,

where the air is sweet like honey, and peace is among the weary.

 

I am a child of the earth, and with Her I will grow and bend.

Her wind whispers softly in my ears, Her sun upon my cheeks

a mere dandelion in the Garden of Eden,

but I’ll grow where I am planted, because uprooted flowers die.

This poem is about: 
Me
Our world

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