"Their lips brushed like young wild flowers in the wind."
— F. Scott Fitzgerald, This Side of Paradise

Young Wild Flowers in the Wind

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Young wild flowers in the wind,

The breeze stirs our leaves—

Those proud golden wings

That shimmer in the sunlight

Limned by vitality

And hormonal desire.

Our petals topple gods.

Are you listening?

Our petals topple gods

In our passing.

Our absence

Sears through

Parched lands,

And our words

Will be carved

On marble stones,

And our stems

Will be made statues of,

And decay

Will not hurt us.

Young wild flowers

Don't falter

In the wind.