Bulrushes by the wayside                                                               

By the wayside  bulrushes grow wild

whacked by the wind as the cars speed by

They will purify the river just

 wayward flowing towards no sea

Ages of muck sitting at the bottom

have to be scrubbed clean bring in the surge

reach the sea surf  rest after the tumult.

Alone in the open with the wind

on the face the scent of grass I taste

the anthem of  blue jays in my heart

 raindrops in my soul the spring in me

The wilderness around my solace

the angry storm raging  cow me down

but I am  brave inside sure I can.