Blue flowers, tiny,
clinging to soft earth
as though your very existence
depends upon its dark soil;
your roots run at fragile angles
through red, brown, and black —
you are a symbol of many things;
among them, strength and beauty
that only the Creator can claim
as His Masterpiece.
Copyright, 2013, Freeda Baker Nichols
Reblogged this on The healthiest beauty.
Thanks for reblogging my poem.
My nextdoor neighbor has them growing in her walkway flowerbed, they look so fragile, yet they are very strong.
Imagine that! Barefoot Flowers on the West Coast! Amazing little flowers, aren’t they?
That looks like what I’ve always called Johnny-Jump-Ups. Now, I notice in my yard there are white ones–gobs and gobs of them, which I don’t remember seeing before last spring. Perhaps I had eyes only for the blue. Good poem.
I also call them Johnny-jump Ups, but I have heard older people call them Barefoot Flowers because that’s when you can go barefoot when they first come up. As a child, I saw only the blue, and, like you, now I find lots of white ones. Thanks.