I see children smiling,
their lips parting like Spring bulbs
revealing their white petalled teeth,
and the instinctive happiness and radiance
that appears to have been imparted upon them by the Sun
turns my over-complicated branches an envious green.
I wonder if I have seen
just too much light, and although I have grown,
oh so much stronger, taller and older
than those young seedlings
this growth has been a haphazard spreading
without any real thought to where my roots lie deep.
Alternatively, I could have seen
too many dreary dismal days of grey
which have made my core damp and rotten,
and so no matter how much light I may see
I will always be disaffected and despondent,
incapable of ever blooming something beautiful.
Either way, it is clear to see
that this young bulb has grown to be a weed,
a nuisance to those who wish to pick the most fragrant flowers.
Those fresh flower faces better keep smiling with such innocence,
because one day they will undoubtedly grow just like me,
grow to be wisened of the world, to be wizened by the world.