Blue flowers, tiny,
and green-stemmed,
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
Freeda Baker Nichols 
Reblogged this on The healthiest beauty.
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Thanks for reblogging my poem.
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My nextdoor neighbor has them growing in her walkway flowerbed, they look so fragile, yet they are very strong.
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Imagine that! Barefoot Flowers on the West Coast! Amazing little flowers, aren’t they?
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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.
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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.
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