Thoughts of a Sunflower
I used to draw designs in the frost of car windows
The designs greeted the garden I passed by day after day
This winter had been the harshest of all the years
So by the end of spring, the sunflowers had wilted away
At some point every winter grew harsher than the last
The cold brittled my bones until winter was all I knew
My fingers ice, this cold would slice
and the sky a more grey than blue
I can’t pinpoint exactly when it was I wilted,
But slowly my stem hunched and my petals fell away
Will the seeds I drop ever find the dirt and sun?
Perhaps I’ll ponder it another day.