The black fertile soil of hope that crumbled and fell remains In the crevices of the concrete slab Formed by disappointment and pain.
Thistles sprout head above the rest spreading thorny arms posed to prick Weeds cowing beneath stubby and thick Claim a spot and set roots deep.
Close to the slab tiny wildflowers barely seen, Burst through cracks Spreading wings of green Tipped with electric blue blooms. That peeped through overgrowth's muddled gloom.
And are lights of hope beaming against all odds Unexpected to thrive, But rooted in rich morsels of soil survived.
Never relent, when gripped by claws of despair If all seems lost, search the crevices of life Abundant Fragments of hope are present there.
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