at moment’s notice the call could come; you’re needed! until then we wait
colors can be changed a new look, but underneath the metal still rusts
a single flower draws attention to what is else wise just a bush
sometimes the story isn’t about the ending it’s the passing through
roots keep us anchored unlike a tree, the anchor is not physical
we reach to the sky as dreamers; faster, higher but wake back on earth
we might not choose where but we can always choose why ideas matter
where two paths converge opportunity awaits proceed with caution
there’s a harmony when clouds and rains conspire that drowns the senses
the raindrops gather on the new growth, waiting to soak a passerby
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