I was not meant to
toil the thickness of prose
or suffer the madness of time frames.
Wisteria climbing a wall
in good time seems appealing.
Pooling droplets of rain
in folded leaves of broad faced hollyhocks
tracking the sun or dormant buds sleeping
beneath winters hard earth awaiting
the call of a nightingales
song is alluring.
In time passers-by might find beauty in me,
a reflection of nature.