It's a pity, its a pity
though we hate anything thorny,
 and silently meditate on serendipity,
  the cactus, we planted inadvertently,
 among chrysanthemums and roses
                                            we swear by,
grew real quickly, proliferated avidly.
Look at their ghastly smiles, prickly.

You find them raise and shine early,
on any weather, rain, drought or snow,
when the gentle flowers all are withered ,
and sleepy, they remain succulent and sturdy.

It's a pity, fragrant flowers loose heart easily,
but  cactus, without fail, remain  alert and cocky,
It's a pity, nice ones can't fight back and smile,
look, the cactus flowers ask for nothing special,
though spiky, they make us believe we are lucky.
*Aren't we thankful, for their tender mercies?