The Weed

O' what mystic blades litter the terrain,
Oblivious to time, if ever it begin.
Surprise thee may it, what one might cede
To know no burden, to know no pain.
Instead be left forsaken-
Forgot, as a wretched withering weed.

Thickets tremble in thought through time
Dwelling in the reminiscent past,
Wavering, woefully ever in their prime,
Recalling what had been pursued,
Only to remember what was their last,
The forfeit of their own fortitude.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/4h8766/free_man/d2qfb3m https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/4hjctz/on_loss/d2q1563