Spring Bulbs

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.