Persistence, I have heard wishes to touch the moon.

The prickly Bougainvillea does not require a nod

to harbour the bloom of large pink, purple, white

blooming sight, which wishes to protect the flower pod.

I have never felt more at home, but when I do

It is the love of the most precarious sight.

Beauty raises it’s height in a persevering soul.

But, perseverance is never meant to mould

life into love of fine, gold or cold firing.

I have it but does it help? If it does, what makes

It so folded, razed and barren, what makes people

Look at it with awe, holding a taming saw.

I have grown in a valley where nothing else grows.

I mow the lands where people have lost their vows.

I try to reach out, yet it does not help.

I try to blend but perseverance is a huge kelp.

Asking for more and more and more.

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  1. Well that took me on a long dive into the world of kelp. (Pun intended.)
    This line: “… what makes people/Look at it with awe, holding a taming saw” really struck me. It’s so true – of any personal strength – that many folks both hold it in respect and say or do things to sabotage those who have it. We are such odd creatures.
    Beautiful poem.

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