The Old Saxifrage

The Old Saxifrage

(with apologies to Emma)

Not like the shiny metal of apple fame,

With arrogant concrete grasping from hope to hope;

Here at our wind scorned, wintered mother's perch

A tiny life with a spark, who's light

Is the spectrum of a universe, and her name

Breaker of Rocks. From her slight tawny frame

Glows remarkable indifference; her delicate display embraced

The jagged line where earth and ether struggle "Keep puny man, your absurd toil!" cries she With hollow indifference.

"Give me your fetid wounds, your nails, Your weakened knees, searching for higher purpose, The tragic cycle of a refusal to indifference Send these shattered frames, concussion whipped, to me: I raise my staff amongst the shadowed cold"