Thrive my pretty flower
for the weeds will always grow,
and a petal that falls amongst the stones
will always be alone;
your scent is trust – the world to be,
offering more than mere entropy;
pigment that takes the eye,
flattering the shade by an
uneven glance, when nothing
else could matter;
gentle roots that strive for life,
as harsh days halt your growth,
blossom not where weeds are found
for beauty has no home.
