Final Frost

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I admire the try
Despite the spotlights and fanfare
All artificial, to date
Nothing like the great outdoors

Next comes the hardening
Hardly a problem at all
No one knows the struggle, then strength
O’ The Seedling

Light to the Prism

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I tend to the green
I look for the prisms
To escape the prison inside

Grey-brown and desolate
Static-creating status symbols
Causing interferences

I’m a leprechaun lass
With treasure to spare
To share, is my true “why”

I daily trek to tend
Intentionally
To the green