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by Oonah V. Joslin

We do our best to brighten up the grass
after the daffodils have drooped and died.
When they’ve come to the end of their yellow day
our sunny faces light verges and paths.

Yet people passing say, “Look at these weeds”
and spray poison and cut us before we can lay
down seed. But we’re tough, and enough
of us survive. The clock ticks in favour of us
ordinary flowers. We’ll outlast their cultivars.

Copyright © 2015 by Oonah V. Joslin

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