Cobbler's Pegs

the weeds they grow so quickly
walk through them and they'll cling
pushing up and through her tired mind
sticking to bare, soft, vulnerable skin
thick, strong and determined
time and time again they win
the nature of unwanted thoughts
a bird with damaged wings
she sings a song of melancholy
wishing it was spring
perhaps the weeds will die in time
or her wings will feel the wind
but the weeds just keep on growing
they cling to flesh
and bring on death
of
any
hopeful thing