Free and untamed, long and shaggy like uncombed hair,
Rooted in the ground, pressed beneath the surface.
Screaming for water and a 90-degree muggy weather,
Surrounded by whites and reds & a hint of lilac,
The wild they called it
Oh, but how I wish life would be that simple
Just waiting around and having no purpose
While we sit and type at a desk whatever preaches power
How lucky little strands, to have dirt to grow in
Thin and translucent as you glow in the sunlight
But what do we have but a purpose to fulfill
A pressure to push against and power to maintain
While you, who I stomp on daily with your prickliness, have nothing to mourn about