She's the type of precious flower
That grows well,
And thrives,
In nature's sacred rich earth,

Each new blessed morning
She reaches out to the sunslight -
She knows its energy is responsible
For her daily blessed rebirth.

She's the type of precious flower
That grows to her full potential
After a heavy rain,

She can handle the wild winds -
She can handle a little roughness,
And a little bit of pain.

She's the type of precious flower
Who does not compete,
Or compare herself,
With any other flower,

She knows her worth,
And she is comfortable
Being herself -
This is her special superpower.

She's the type of precious flower
That possesses a rare uniqueness -
An original beauty,
Inside and out,

She prides herself
In living for the joy of life,
She is grateful
For the simplicities in life -
And for being blessed
With the gift of life;
For being chosen to sprout.

By Lady R.F ©2016

Easily crushed.
Easily broken.
Shattered to pieces.
By the pain of rejection.
Bearing scar upon scar.
Yet still...
it goes on loving.
Still...
it reaches out.
To embrace the broken.
Even at the risk.
Of its own breaking.
Tenderly.
Tenderly it loves.
Easily wounded.
But vast.
In its capacity.
To love.
To break.
To love.
And break.
Again and again.