Jacob Gifford

Rookie (1995 / plano Illinois)

Freedom


I’m a weed on
A cliff, I hang out with
An eagle, but maybe the
Flowers are the weeds.
I’m free and they
Are not, I cling to rocks,
They cling to a pot of dirt.
When there is an earthquake
I will be safe but the flowers
Will not. They are plucked
And put into jars of water
They will die, but I will
Live free and long.

Submitted: Monday, December 15, 2008
Edited: Tuesday, February 14, 2012

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  • Rookie - 281 Points Daniel Y. (2/19/2014 7:50:00 PM)

    Fascinating. From the perspective of the weed, whose lease on life is normally one of disdain from human considerations. The weed sits next with the eagles. Strong and independent. It has a hardy life, but it still appreciates what it has. Even though it's sessile, it has the freedom to be itself, and to cling to the rocks. I liked this poem, please look at some of mine! (Report) Reply

  • Bronze Star - 5,377 Points Lyn Paul (2/19/2014 3:59:00 PM)

    Well written Jacob. Weeds certainly have great survival skills. Congratulations on making poem of the day. (Report) Reply

  • Rookie Devin Startley (9/7/2009 1:52:00 PM)

    flowers die and go away but when you plant another one it represents who you are and you will always be free just believe in yourself (Report) Reply

  • Rookie Tia Maria (12/18/2008 3:21:00 AM)

    That's weed for you... Hanging out on a high ; -) Sorry, could not resist that.... great poem, makes you think, doesn't it.... (Report) Reply

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