A miracle grows in the wasteland.
In spite of the dirt, rock, wind.
It pokes its way out in opposition.
I will grow in this difficult place.
I will sprout and flourish in gentleness.
With small surprises of color.
In lush display of what I am.
Feeding others, even here, a treat.
The eyes to behold, if they look.
The care of hidden color, small.
A starburst of wonder, struck up.
Behold the rocks possess life.
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