Wednesday, March 7, 2012

wild onions

a buried treasure
green marks the spot
though the grass
is dead
brown with sadness
weeping and wishing
for the warmer days
of summer
but you are not like them
you do not lose hope
boldly your emerald stalks
shine as a beacon
year after year
season after season
your stubborn soul
has boldly flavored your heart
millions pass you by
kings in plastic chariots
riding to market
to purchase your inferior
and twisted cousin
fattened by those with fat wallets
but i choose you
for you are wild
and free
and also free
and your flavor
burns with passion
the passion of freedom and defiance

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