I’m a weed on <br />A cliff, I hang out with <br />An eagle, but maybe the <br />Flowers are the weeds. <br /> I’m free and they <br />Are not, I cling to rocks, <br />They cling to a pot of dirt. <br />When there is an earthquake <br />I will be safe but the flowers <br />Will not. They are plucked <br />And put into jars of water <br />They will die, but I will <br />Live free and long.<br /><br />Jacob Gifford<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/freedom-170/
