I found some tiny little flowers in the dark,
on an early morning walk throughout the park.
Mike Woods predicted it was going to snow,
but these tiny little flowers didn’t know.
Without giving his frigid forecast any care
they boldly bloomed there, in the January air.
Under a lamp post by the waterfall,
that weatherman wasn’t fazing them at all.
They went about their business, thriving, growing,
without concern, without even knowing
what storms might come, what changes lie ahead.
Clumped together snugly in their bed,
their ignorance was hopeful, in a way,
that warmed me like a bright midsummer’s day.
The way they stood there, present, pure, unvexed,
unbothered by whatever might come next,
or what Mike Woods says… They have no way of knowing.
These tiny little flowers just keep growing.