life began protected
in our mother’s gardens
and as time would have
we ventured forth
nurtured by dreams
of butter cups and lady slippers
carried like winged seeds on a breeze
in search of the meadows
but no one spoke of
garden walls and the weeds
deeply rooted in our society
that bloodied our hands
as we grasped and ripped
at the thistles,
at the vines
strangling our sister flowers,
keeping us tamed,
keeping us planted
within the ancient masonry
of a well organized garden

©Heather Carr-Rowe

I am a tree lover living on the prairies. My poetry is often inspired by my passion for nature, the environment and current affairs. You can read more of my writing at my blog – Sgeoil