Dandelions push through
the rotted breast of
an abandoned home
with giggles of sunshine.
From a stony bed just beyond
the rubble a sickly rose taunts
about death and petals
that command attention.
But summer’s wild petals
don’t care where they blossom.
They are mother earth’s
gypsy children scattered
by the wind to grow bouquets
where desolate needs a garden.
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