The Flower Will Bloom

The flower will bloom,

Do not worry my love.

Rain drops will quench its thirst,

the sun shall not let it starve.

Do not fret, my love.

The wind will make its petal flutter, enticing passersby.

And soon, colors shall ink its petals.

The harsh winters shall cause it freeze,

The dry summers shall melt it away.

It’s alright, my love.

It will not stay down, no matter who tramples upon it.

The flower will bloom,

It’s a known fact, my love.

Its stem will kept it far above liquid rubies.

Its leaves continue to nurture and devour.

Deaf and blind to the battles taking place,

It grows and grows.

Do not worry, my love.

It will tower above man, and spread its roots far into the ground.

The flower will bloom,

No matter what we do, my dear.

It cannot be chopped down – refuses.

Its petals burst with such angry reds,

Fluttering mockingly in the wind.

Its stem trembles and waits,

Waiting patiently.

The flower will bloom,

From the seeds we all have planted.

Its roots intend to suffocate the core.

Its steam shall trample reason, override sense.

It blinds and deafens us. Encircle us with fog.

Oh my love, this is not a rose with thorns.


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