My love is a yellow sunflower, So vibrant One may mistake it for the sun When they look at it from afar. A flower which blooms no matter The sky that stands above it— One which does not bend In mighty gusts. But with its strength and vibrance, There comes a day it will be snipped, Possibly by a man hoping To gain a toothy smile from his muse. One leaf and a half-stem and roots still Planted stubbornly in the Soft soil below— It will grow to its former self. No matter the time it takes, No matter what comes its way. The flower will bloom once more.
