It is a winding road that I must walk,
And many things to be encountered on the way.
The path is mossy, the sky is dark
And as I walk, slowly, I come to a stop.
There, beneath the fronds of a fern,
A wilted beauty but I can barely discern
The faint yellow, smudged with muddy brown,
Waiting patiently for its call to rise,
A lone sunflower.
I push the fern away,
For such beauty must not be hidden.
Her delicate petals drooping,
But when the sun rises, so will she.
And as she turns to the sun,
Heads will turn to her.
My no-longer-hidden sunflower.
Photo for this post –> Look Towards the Sun