Upon spying the long and
Graceful sunflower,
Thought the tumbleweed,
Alas,
I am not
And will never be
A sunflower.
I can not put down roots;
Instead, I travel on and on,
Following scattered routes.
It's a tough life and,
Although I have become
Battle scarred
From chronic rolling here and
Constant rolling there,
Only a small portion of me
Possesses the tactile sense.
Although I most assuredly
Am not
Insensitive.
With that, the tumbleweed skewed away
On a zigzagged path which seemingly
Defied logic,
Dancing, though not merrily,
Ungracefully, to
The mindless music of the wind.
Suddenly the wind strengthened and
The tumbleweed slammed
Against a wall of rock.
Crashing to pieces.
The tumbleweed thought,
How strange, I feel that I am floating.
Floating, over the shards of my
Tumbleweed shell.
And, look, there is the sunflower.
The sunflower I earlier spied.
How I wanted to be a sunflower.
I will never be a sunflower.
And now, I am not even a tumbleweed.
Suddenly, the sunflower spoke,
Hello, you lovely, lovely butterfly,
How I wish I were a butterfly,
Free to
Roam the earth.
Free to
Fly here,
To hasten there.
Instead, I sit rooted here,
Day in,
Day out,
Stretching, stretching, stretching
Towards the warm and comforting sun.
But I will never be able to reach the sun
Or to see the far flung wonders of the
World.
And, when the sun sets,
I feel cold and
Wonder,
Will I live to see
Another warm and sunny day?
And, as the tumbleweed floated,
She turned to the sunflower and
Said
Good afternoon, sunflower.
The sunflower replied,
Good afternoon, butterfly.
Butterfly? I'm not a butterfly,
I'm a tumbleweed,
At least, I used to be a tumbleweed.
No, said the sunflower,
You were the chrysalis, waiting to become
A butterfly.
Your cocoon was merely
Attached to a tumbleweed,
Composed of bits and pieces of
Dead plants.
The tumbleweed was for you as
A nest is for a bird.
And now your time has come.
Now, fly away,
Fly away.
Transverse, travel, rejoice
and celebrate the
Beauty of the world.
Forget not your past,
Forget not your friends,
But live, live in your present.
Remember, it is called
Your present because it is
God's gift to you.
And the butterfly flew forward,
Eager to embrace adventure.
Never to turn around
Nor to mourn
The life past as a tumbleweed.
Forward to face the sun.
by Lisa Renee Kraus