Silky pink

Shoes of a working urban woman

Bright yellow petals on her blouse

Like feathers on a small bird flying above, breaking free of habit

Smooth lavender of a floral hand bag

The routine becomes tiring; frustration brews

Golden sun barely visible between buildings

Endless freeway encloses the environment

Dreaming of petunias, fields of magenta, remembrance of country childhood

Now working tirelessly, caught in a hive of endless streets and hustle

Missing the rosebushes, even with their thorns

The city lacks life, like a dying tree, barren

No pinks, no flowers, petals outnumbered by cars

A hand; a way out; escape the confinement

Return to the sunny endless skies and fields

Of sunflowers-

-it is never to late to go back home