I found a flower growing wild and alone.

My first thoughts were to pick it for my own.

This was not a simple bloom among many.

It held the meaning of life for one without any.

It was naked of thorns or prickly spines.

It held only beauty, comfort and piece of mind.

I found a flower that was hidden in plain sight.

Others had found it there, but none had seen its’ light.

The beauty of a rose would fade at it side.

Only in a pure heart could its’ truth abide.

This flower so precious, kind and pure,

was never once gaudy, but always demure.

The bold and brash all passed it by

allowing me to stumble onto the flower of my eye.

My flower remains in its’ perfect place

adorned with beauty, wisdom and grace.

I hope to one day know how it feels

to touch the flower that grows in me still.

I can taste the aroma of the air it filled,

yet it’s and all just a dream unless or until.