I cannot count the years
I have been waiting
for a soul full of pity
to notice my sorrowful plight
perhaps to plant a daffodil or
a daisy into this piece of sod
who has waited oh so patiently
to be fullfilled
oh sweet paradise would be
someone's gentle hand
thrusting a rose stem into me
I in turn would nurture
until you grew so swollen
and hardy
my moistness would turn you
bright and red
you in turn
with your
protective thorns
would fall upon
and stab to death
any who would call me dirt

