Pretty Weed (Poetry)

The wind blew
a random seed —
it found a space
a crack just wide enough
to slip into
and germinated — grew
tall amidst a crowd of moss
that jostled on the wall.

A teenager —
just one dream in her pretty head
she budded — smiled
gave herself to every bee —
went flower wild.

All summer long she partied
stretched out in the sun
and thought of nothing —
never knew
the cold to come.

The first frost killed her
like a lamb
innocently bled
on the garden’s altar stone —
its goddess fed.