Pavement's Sprout

By the bus stop, where the concrete's rough and worn,

a thin green shoot, no bigger than my pinky nail,

pushed its way up, seemed to have been born

right from the hard gray, not about to fail.

A single leaf, determined, vibrant in its green,

against the dust and the chewing gum stains.

It didn't ask for light, or for a clean

spot, just made its own, enduring all the rains.

I looked at it, small and stubborn, a tiny fight,

making its own way, no gentle soil or soft bed.

Just a fierce will, pushing towards the light,

long after everything else was dead.

And I thought, isn't that just how it goes?