Wildflower
High within alpine cold,
Among green sheets of resting boulders bed.
A weak and tiny flower, blooms a blue bonnet upon its head.
Below ancient fields of slowly Retreating snow,
She endures harsh summer storms, a fleeting season in which to grow.
Battered by the wind, or thirsting from the dry,
Her time among the oldest stones is the blinking of an eye.
Why sweet flower grow where you do not last more days?
Let me take you from the harshness of this place, within my garden you shall stay.
I shall scoop your earth and peat within my hands and water you the same.
Come grow with me, for a wildflower I shall love and tame.
