Rooted Deep For The Sky Poem by Samuel Richard Leonard

What weed of my heath
hinders me as I breathe

stalking my head
coiling me in dread—

that morning mist
dragged soft in a kiss, is

poised with such deft,
and has left me bereft.

For what do I grow
if not to cease this trow—

will the sun save me
but a measly daisy?

though these leaves are warm
they come hidden with thorns
for it may appease this storm
but still it whithers me; forlorn.
- Samuel Richard Leonard