Out of the spectacular green
they are born to this garden.
The blossom outspread around the leaf,
But the recreant acted evil,wrenches the stalk,
Seizing her freedom to live.
The blossom is dying now,
Her beauty faded
Blood unseen
Imprisoned in the cold hands.
Her evocative aroma nobody felt,
That dwells in the garden,
For she was only meant to be picked up.
As she advances to her death,
the divine agency arrived in the form of rain;
It’s not just raindrops,
It is the hope that will rejuvenate the blossom,
Nourishing her iternal spirit to survive.
