We are not seeds or bulbs placed
tenderly in cultivated soil, watered
routinely by a gentle sprinkler to grow
in a precise pattern and be admired daily
by a gardener.
We are dropped from a beak in the sky
onto varied terrain or sprout from an
invisible root. We depend on the whim
of the rain which can be harsh but we
flourish nonetheless.
Those other flowers call us wild but we
don’t mind for we are able to provide
unexpected pleasure to weary hikers and
wandering children who like to wear us
in their hair.
Poem by Ellen Van Hook
Eileen Van Hook’s poetry has been published in various journals and anthologies She has placed six times in poetry contests and has been nominated twice for the Pushcart Prize. Eileen lives and writes in the wilds of northwestern New Jersey where wildflowers thrive.