Deep in the darkest thicket and thorns, 

Therein lies a sad lotus.

And by the hour, 

She seeks to vanish,

For the pointy trees,

Would like to preserve,

Her delicate beauty.

Be seen and not heard,

For your petals are too beautiful,

They say.

Not with their mouths, but with their branches.

They tell her that they mean only the best,

That she must never move her petals.

Oh! A curse, she thinks!

A curse!

For to watch the trees all dance and sing their songs,

Is the greatest torture.

Sometimes she likes to curl up her petals,

If only to feel unpretty.

If only, 

They understood that deep within her root, 

There was something to behold. 

Not just Delicate, Pretty, Beautiful or Soft, 

But Burning, Strong, Brave, and Powerful. 

One day, 

When all the trees slept,

She picked herself up,

And went to live,

In a flower meadow.

Her roots exposed, 

She was free,

Golden and overwhelming, 

They were to behold!