with neither good or bad
intentions,
unlike us,
they
seem to have no conscience.
they take
in the sun
and rain and grow
with little or no help
from us.
the vines grip
the fence
and brick, the weeds
come,
the flowers
bloom.
they've survived
another season
of cold
to live on.
not defeating
anything,
just being what they are,
complexities
born whole.
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