Wildflower
Earth, I have one last thing to ask of you.
When my time ends, could I be a wildflower?
Something to pretty to look at,
Standing out against the greys of the world.
Maybe people will stop by for a better look.
Maybe an artist will sketch me,
Trying to capture my elegance on paper.
And maybe a stranger
Will come take my from my spot in the soil,
And I’ll be pressed between pages,
My beauty to be preserved forever.
Earth, tell me,
When my time here ends,
Could I be a wildflower?
I've always wanted to leave an impact on people, I've never liked the idea of being forgotten after I die. This poem is really about accepting that you're not going to be remembered by the whole world, but you're important to someone, and just wanting to keep leaving small impacts in the next life.
