Pavement's Sprout

That tiny green, a brazen lick

of life, through concrete, hard and thick.

A hairline crack, a grimy seam,

against the odds, a stubborn dream.

The asphalt stained, with oil and grit,

and yet, a sprout, refusing to quit.

It pushes up, a small, fierce fight,

against the gray, towards the light.

No gardener, no gentle hand,

just will to live, across the land.

It makes no sense, that tiny green,

to break the rock, to make a scene.