Author Information
Out Of Place
Out of place is what I am;
In a greenhouse, I'm the wild flower.
Life has made me a loner-
Inclusion lasted a brief hour.
As now my frail leaves curl and wilt,
My once-bright petals wither and die
I long for obscurity -
A peaceful field where I yearn to lie.
There to bow my weary head
And be at last, inconspicuous;
To sway as the others do
With expression and mind vacuous;
To know my season is short
And to know that I will not be picked or cut,
That no eye will light on me
That I'm plain, ordinary - a mutt.
Out of place is what I am -
It has oft been reiterated.
I can't feign indifference;
The greenhouse is over-rated.
