by Karen Elaine Greene
I am the wind charging through you
disturbing crisp leaves on a fresh autumn morning.
I am the phoenix risen from the ashes.
Burst into flames
I am the butterfly wandering from flower to flower
unaccustomed too settling long on one blossom or
I am the grass that grows wild at the fence.
I will not be tamed; shaped into some pattern.
I am yours to treasure for a time
until my roots grow soft and I drift away
with the wind I am forever disciple to.