A Flower Blooms, despite its surroundings.
With its Stem of Thorns
With it’s Roots of Competition.
Beauty usurps its surroundings
The less to match it,
The more to grasp it.

We are Human
We are blooming.
We don’t have to Kill to be beautiful
We don’t have to Till the ground to be beautiful.
We till our own lives, and our own beauty.
Flowers are so snooty,
It’s because they cannot build their own gardens, our duty.
We Bloom, in full assistance and awareness of our surroundings.
But heed! One thing reigns true!
Flowers bloom, but in old age shine a new hew.
So too, do we have our due.
Wilting signals the end of a flowers life, it’s cue.
It’s fall from grace, live for grace then coup.
Perhaps, we should know better when our bloom is through
And when it is time, we should have fewer eyes view.