In fields of goldenrods,
sad smiles are met with nods
as true beauty is at last found
cloaked in the colour of dreams and gods.
I once read about you
against back drops of blue
inside a poem that someone sowed
from all that they once believed they knew.
But from amongst the weeds
my broken life it bleeds
in full colour it paints true goodness
not from roses, but from goldenrod seeds.