A Wildflower

I am a wildflower,
with petals untamed,
each one uneven,
no two the same.

My flimsy stem wavers,
my soil is damp,
I was never a daisy,
pure and stamped.

I was never a sunflower,

foreshadowing summer’s heat.

She grew savory seeds of promise,

While mine were much too sweet.

And with the bend in my stem and awkward pose,

when it comes to cupid’s favorite flower,

I never lived up to the romance of a rose.

Not a daisy, nor a rose,
never a sunflower,
almost a marigold.

Wanders often pass me by,

their laughter light, their baskets high.

They pick the blooms of ordered grace,

and leave me rooted in my place.

Yet amidst the crowd, a quiet sound,

a child with golden hair knelt down.

She paused where others only glanced,

and with gentle eyes, gave me a chance.

“Today I’m picking just one flower,
not two, not three—just this hour.
And you’ve got a bend in your stem so true,
it lifts your petals to greet the blue.”

“Even more, your edges glow white,
fading gently into the sky-blue light.
You’re so unique, so striking to view,
the others didn’t dare to pick you.”

Winner of Silver Key in Regional Scholastic Art and Writing Awards