“Wherever there is light, the flowers will find it”

The old woman told me

She was sat surrounded by cigarette buts

The ashtray overflowing like

a childs eyes welled with tears

Her dressing gown burnt and singed

With years of letting the ash fall

Purposefully grey

with white spots

“Yeah right”

I think

“Well that’s just lovely.”

I say

Disbelief haunting my voice

I walk on.

She muses over time spent wasted

As the old methodone addicts

Remove an 80’s cabinet

From her front garden

For goodwill and a smile

Whatever gets them through the day

As each step hits the curb

The trying of spring

falls on deaf ears

But the bumblebee mounting the honeysuckle

Makes no attempt to understand

When spring has sprung

She just knows

she has a job to do