I blamed myself.

my seeds too low.

for a year with no flowers.

marigolds.

but what if,

by chance,

the seeds aren’t too deep;

the fault lies in the earth.

the soil cares not for some flowers.

gives them no worth.

seeds; it will not nourish.

fruit; it will not bear.

when the land hangs its own volition,

when we label victim,

unworthy of air!

We are wrong,

but no matter.

Our time to change,

far past.

In the town I call mine.

The voice has been cast.

Beauty is not who you are.

so I’m told.

So rings true with each tear that she cries,

each truth that cascades from her soft,

brown,

BEAUTIFUL EYES.