Flung

Flung like a seed from a stubborn pod,
Through summer air it twirls, un‑hinged,
A scatter of hope on wind‑kissed sod,
Where laughter clings and doubts are binge.

It lands where shadows stretch and yawn,
On cobblestones that echo old refrains,
A daring arc, a careless yawn,
That paints the sky with fleeting stains.

So let us be flung, not forced nor fraught,
But freed by gusts that dare to stray—
For in each throw, a lesson taught:
To rise, to fall, to find our way.