Response to “The Wilde Woman of Aiken”

Plucked from your meadow and placed in their garden,

To verify unbeautiful things that grow in the wild.

Misinformed of your resilience amidst the poorest qualities,

They cannot recognize that they are still beguiled.

Wilt not wild flower, you are more than decoration.

Though unable to sing, you vibrate in the air,

Sowing eager seeds in the artful dance of germination,

Alluring nature to waltz the cross pollination.

Afraid flowers like you would infest their floristry,

They clipped your essence to manufacture their beauty.

Captured their lies to corroborate their supercilious minds,

Nourishing your seedlings, dancing through the waves of time.