Trust

I have wandered among so many flowers,
and thorns, and rarely have I been stung.
I remember roses, their vintage fragrances,

their many shades of rose and pink.
I remember salty odor of grass,
green stains on my knees, pine pitch in my hair.

Even in the desert, the maroon and deep
goldenrod of Mexican hats brave the elements.
What a surprise to see them spring up each year,

through thick or thin, rain or no rain.
I have wandered among many fields and flowers
and rarely have I been stung.

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