I wonder if the trees can hear me
When I scream aloud,
Or if the dandelion screams,
When I pick him out.
There's no telling where life can take us;
One day I'm a blade of grass,
But today I am myself-
Nobody else.
Life chooses for me to be me.

by author unknown

Comments (29)

...a quiet and dusty room Well communicated and expressed Sylva
this is a wonderful poem, and I have written here twice now, that there is a verse missing....Grrrrrr!
The second verse is missing from this version, as I said here so long ago. I wish that you would fix it! The missing stanza reads as follows; Death, that shall quicken at the call of Spring, sleepers to stir beneath June's magic kiss, though birds pass over, unremembering, and no bee seeks here roses that were his.
You have missed out a verse.. Death, that shall quicken at the call of Spring, a cedar in this narrow cell is thrust. That shall drink deeply of a century's streams, these lilies shall make summer on my dust.
Wonderful work, glad I discovered this!
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