by Eleanore Lee
A yellow mist floats along the rim of the far hill.
In the dawning spring it sprang up by itself.
We didn’t notice it happening. It just appeared.
Up close the juicy little leaves look like clover,
But they’re not.
The sparkling blossoms small and brilliant.
No one worked to plant them.
Who would, anyway, on that high empty hill?
Nobody’s garden, just
Weeds in the middle of nowhere—
On the way between where I came from
And where I’m going.
Oxalis. A form of wood sorrel
In my neglected back garden,
In the parking strip
The forgotten planter box
Brilliant yellow petals
By the roadside
Spring sunlight condensed.
Category: Poetry, SNHU Creative Writing, SNHU online creative writing