About A Little Flower Far From Home “Little flower what are you doing here? How came you to be so far from home? Do you not know that you do not belong among the tiled pavements, Or manicured lawns, Or among the houses that line up one after another where even the weeds dare not grow? Little flower, do you not know? Little flower, how came you to be so far from home?” “Oh, Earth Mother, I know I am far from home, And as to how I got here, God only knows. I suppose I must have been carried off by some luckless wind, Or borne about by the haphazard rivulets of rain. But, Earth Mother, I know, I know that I am far from home. My roots yearn to dive down deep into rich soil, My leaves dream of stretching up to the bright blue sky; But here I am cut, I am pruned, To whatever shape they would have me assume. I have no freedom to be or grow, And oh, how I yearn for a forest home. A place where the rain falls deliciously from the sky. A place where the wind is free and dances with me. A place where the sun graciously kisses each stem and bud, Yes, this is the place I dream of! But, as you said, I am far from home, It is not as if I could roam; And so, I have no freedom of my own. I have tried to sprout where I should not be, And now my life can only be a travesty. But I may hope, I may dream, Of a better future for my seed; And that life may be kinder to them than it ever was to me.”
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