Imperfect Metaphor

After quite a long hiatus, my sisters and I returned to our writing course. I've mentioned it here before, when I posted an essay I wrote for it.

This time we did an exercise in which you were to choose a personal metaphor or word picture that describes you, your personality, your circumstances, and so forth. This was to be written in a center circle. Then in other circles (or not, if you missed that part as I did) connected to that one, you were to write related words and then use them to write something.

This time I wrote a poem. For my metaphor I chose a wooded trail. Most of you probably don't care to read the words I chose after that, so I shall not put them up. They comprise most of the nouns in the poem.

I couldn't think of the right title for it, but this was the closest I could get to what I was trying to convey.

Imperfect

Across my life the soft breeze blows
The honeysuckle smell.
On a spongy fallen log I rest
Midst the bright green dell.
My muddied footprints on the trail
Lead back through the thorns,
Evidenced by trails of red
Traced upon my arms.
Through the whisp'ring leaves I hear
Some creature's grating caw.
Sunlight like a cheerful child
Brightens the mosquito on my jaw.
The twittering birds cease their songs
As I join mine to theirs
Till the distant backhoe's bang
Beats upon the ears.
The yellow flower my fingers twirl
Doesn't have a name
The phantom hand that pulls on mine
Seems to be the same.
Behind the roping vines I hide
To catch a glimpse of deer.
The thorns, the mud, the caws are worth
Smelling honeysuckle here.

Do you know what I'm trying to convey? If you need a hint, I almost called it "Life."