Questions Are Like Weeds Poem by RoseAnn V. Shawiak

Singly, searching for ends of time, wanting to grasp hold
of them, shifting, spinning, catching everything tightly
in arms of love.

Changing and dancing into the lightness of musical inter-
ludes, sashaying slowly and methodically across the floor
in time with rhythms of a clarinet.

Softly and gently playing wonder of life through curiosity, investigating and tossing about deserts, roaming through
ravines and canyons looking for answers to life.

Questions continue to keep coming like weeds in our minds,
teasing and tempting us endlessly with their mysterious
and suggestive ideas.

Getting us to use our minds, looking for answers and many
solutions that will help in the future when we may need
them the most.