Death was the beginning.
No, it started before then.
Ivy, green and spreading,
just needing something to cling to.
It paid no mind
to the wildflowers
running freely where they willed.
Nor to the fact,
the wood was rotten to begin with.
Wanting only home,
objecting when pulled away,
still knowing no home is here.
Song Choice: If It Makes You Happy by Sheryl Crow
This post is part of Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads Flash 55 post. Go visit and take a look at some other great poetry.