posted on Jan, 28 2012 @ 02:48 AM
They come to take it away.
They come to take that which is precious to her away.
They steal the soil from beneath its roots.
They plant within the ground barren metal poles and dead wooden planks where the roots of the beautiful Rose Bush once grew.
They put other harsh plants in the wake of that which was beautiful and wild.
They choke the nearby stream with garbage.... and they leave their mark upon the land in the form of rotting fish.
They smile and laugh and throw a can into the stream, where once a fresh clean spring would have been, as they sit upon the hill, where the bush once
If you think about it we are like that bush.
We become uprooted in our jobs, tossed aside and built anew with better people or machines. The race for that which is new is always clouding our
views. Does it ever make you wonder if we aren't a Rose Bush? Just waiting for a piece of something that is our own and that we can call our own, so
that we can flourish upon it?
I leave you all with that thought.