Heritage.

Dee Corish

If you’d only give them the chance,
The roots that someone else planted
Would rise up to meet you,
And fit perfectly.

They’ve carved their own way through the soil,
Grounding themselves in that harsh cold.
They’ve found their place here,
Silent and safe.

Until their tips can touch the sky,
Like that first new flower, blooming
In that delicate Spring.
The very first.

The one that withered last Winter.
The one you’d thought long cold and dead.
But it was only waiting
For the chance

To be remembered.