Between cracked slabs of tired gray

Between cracked slabs of tired gray,

a sharp green spear pushes—unruly,

daring the silence of the day,

stretching through concrete, unruly.

Not meant for dirt, not meant to thrive,

but here it bends, and here it fights.

A stubborn thing too tough to hide,

at odds with gray's unyielding rights.

It bends like breath against a cage,

a green thin thread refusing rest.

This sprout, the street's small outrage,

breaking concrete’s cold, hard breast.