When Wildflowers Trade Roots

In gardens tucked beside wild winding village lanes,
Kind hands have traded seeds with silent, steady grace.
Our world, a quilt of cups and colanders and canes,
Is stitched by those who smile, then give you back your place.

Like foxgloves blooming where ground gravel meets brick wall,
Each voice may seem quite small, but sings a needed part.
We grow beside each other — leaning, after all —
And share our weathered hope like jam jars from our heart.

The rose that climbs the fence was once a borrowed sprig,
A kindness wrapped in brown paper and a bow.
So too, all souls who bring their stories, warm and big,
And plant them safely where their hopeful roots can grow.

• When Wildflowers Trade Roots by Jay Rose Ana