Not the queenly rose that rules a garden
not the pristine lily that adorns saintly hands
not the cheerful sunflower, nor fragrant jasmine
but a wildflower, unheralded, unseen, I am.
Obscurity is the meadow where I grow
The wealth of the earth is my bed
I dream beneath the stars’ watchful glow
and wake to the birds’ serenade.
He who planted me crowns me with dew
and sends butterflies to kiss my cheeks.
What more could a flower ask?
Serenity is my lot. I have more than enough.
I am trying to overcome a blogging/writing block. Hopefully, I can be more active with blogging during the summer when school is out.