In the long barren land between the forest and the settled places,
In a landscape memorial to thwarted dreams and ambitions,
(Left as empty as the developer’s wallet)
Small things grow.
A patch of clover peeks above the burn scar,
An alder and an elderberry twine in stunted harmony,
Above them all,
Careless of poor soil and bitter winds,
A lone sunflower
Knows nothing of caution
Knows only to reach upwards
Always closer to its eventual
Grasping of the sun.
I have a deep admiration for persistence in the face of impossible goals.