One of my old poems . . .
by Carly Svamvour - May, 1999
Is it wild flowers
Or just flowers
The latter, those wayward blooms
Making a home on our side of the fence.
I"ve known people
There are people whose roots never change.
Then comes the day they are blown by
They have no choice but to
Take root in
Some allow themselves to become
What you might call
Some respond by chucking back phrases
Ending with words like
And the horse you rode in on.
These are the Hybrid Consequences
Blowing in the breeze,
Mingling with the seeds
They refuse to conform to either side's demands.
They take root wherever the
May deign to set them down.
They are the true
They are the