The purple blooms across the moor,
Outside my little cottage door.
The wind sweeps through the rugged brush,
And breaks the early morning hush.
A tough and hardy, stubborn weed,
That fills an ancient, quiet need.
To cover up the barren stone,
And claim this wild land as its own.
Olusegun Ajayi
I love the sweet rhymes and rhythm of this poem and how nature doesn’t not only nourishes but consumes. That’s beautifully haunting.