My life as it is.
The blue skies are hidden in clouds.
Rain drops to fall are imminent.
Buds shall be released from their shrouds.
No more will they feel impotent.
But what becomes of this flower
if it's without it's stalk and leaves?
Death be it's fate altogether.
'Twill not witness the days and eves.
It shall be bereft of beauty,
Condemned to pain and suffering.
Meanings lose their lucidity,
experiencing qualms unending.
But hope still remains for this one,
as to all of us in this Earth.
All it needs is water and sun.
Stem, roots, and soil brings all the mirth.
We are flowers; anywhere delves.
But can't live only with ourselves.
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