Wildflowers bloom where they are
in places where no one dare to be
in rocks and crags, in sun or shade
in well trod paths, in places nobody sees.
They need no care, no pampering
except that which nature supplies
They’ll plant their roots and they will grow
whether they’re met by cheers or sighs.
They dance with the fickle wind
They paint the meadows bright
All this grace and beauty pass
unnoticed by indifferent eyes.
POETRY JAM wants us to write about something ordinary.