What is a flower that I am not?
Simultaneously, living. Dying.
Breathing Life's air, inching closer to extinction.
Placed strategically in fertile soil, by the Gardeners mighty hand.
Purposed for growth & beauty.
Often over-looked, still, often looked-over.
where does she flourish?
where does she whither?
does she curve & bend upon a widening path?
or reach up through the straight & narrow?
are her roots exposed to careless treading?
or deeply found in safety's core?
do they fail to drink when rain is pounding?
or receive until she longs for more?
The Light-Source leaves her' face a-beaming,
the curious halt to see her glow.
The warmth protects her fragile being,
from weathering the winter's snow.
How might safety reign upon her,
but through the Gardener's tending hands?
She tries to stand tall, bold & lovely,
but fails to keep her own life-plans.
"I am a flower, aren't I Father?"
the Gardener answers in reply,
"Yes, indeed, my helpless daughter.
You are an Orchid
& you are mine."
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