My heart is a lonely flower aged by pain,

misunderstood by dreams

that where denied by life

A dead flower, forgotten,

inclined towards  hope

that  learned to give treason a name

However,

there are flowers that bathe themselves in the morning sun,

even for some reason that never existed

And although it is the most humble little flower,

a flower is a flower

and is part of the landscape

even if lacks color

My heart is a lonely flower ...

© Noris Roberts