• Veronica Taylor


I planted the seeds in black dirt,

Before the violets and wooden heap.

That day my plant did not grow.

I planted the seeds too deep.

The purple violets that stood so tall,

Filtered their petal under the sun,

As the leave from the sycamore began to fall.

What Grew there now were blues.

Bright, silky petals- the color of the sky.

Although these flowers won the most glorious stares.

My marigolds never received those views.

When winter cane with freighting wind,

The flowers were swept away again.

The black dirt dried up to sand.

All the seeds were gone,

From out my hand.

Nothing will grow here.

Not at all.

Nothing will grow here.

There go my marigolds seeds,


Here grows tall weeds.


The leaves won’t grow.

The violets won’t grow.


The marigolds won’t grow.

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