Be like wheat.
We didn't make it to the farmer's truck.
Surely he will scoop us up before he leaves.
He never came back. This is our luck.
We had two choices, grow, or cease to be.
"I'm not supposed to be here,
a beautiful field is waiting for me."
We stuck together. Closeness dulled our fear.
Cold pavement is all we could see.
Without nutrients or soil, the first days passed slow.
The sun kept us warm, and there was no rain.
The nightly dew bound us together, and the wind began to blow.
Our tender roots found each other, and ended our pain.
Alone no more, we embraced our situation.
We grew fast into this tiny island of green.
A guy took our picture as we celebrated germination.
Then wrote a silly poem about the toughest wheat he had ever seen!