Don’t Kill the Flowers

Don’t Kill the Flowers

Don’t kill the flowers, let them be,

they bloom for none but wind and bee.

No hand has shaped their quiet grace,

no will has set their roots in place.

Out of cracks where none should grow,

in dust and ash, through frost and snow.

No sermon tells them when to bend,

no whisper warns of sudden end.

Yet boot and blade, in thoughtless tread,

lay silent meadows cold and dead.

Not every weed is meant to fall,

some bloom where none should bloom at all.