I am a seed
without a season
buried deep
in the cold compost
of my dreams
flood thirsty, time flushed
endless roots reaching
for the reason I rise
but I will not wilt
in recycled soils
I am hidden
only to surprise
the sun
It’s Quadrille time at dVerse. Pen us a poem of 44 words including the word “flush” or a derivative. I am your host. Doors open at 3 p.m. The prompt is open all week.
Image credit: pixabay.com
mishunderstood 