The Road Goes

I am glad,

pleased to be on the downward slope,

hope lies on the other side of the hill

the upward, where the eyes on the prize

care not for roadside flowers,

miss the tares and muddy ditches,

in the joy of having a goal.

Though hope is

foolish on the steepening decline,

mine flickers yet, seeing beauty

in the rabbits still in fields,

despite the chemical death

between corn and barley,

in fields regrown at last.

At road’s end

the dandelion countdown reads nil,

still I wonder what comes next,

if anything, or will I too

return to earth and dust

and wait for wildflowers to poke

through my bleached bones .