A city street in the afternoon
is where this story will start soon.

Amongst the faceless men in suits
moving fervently in their commute

an infant sprout of green we meet
nestled in a crevice of concrete.

A hopeless struggle, or so it seemed,
this tiny little pointless ****.

But there it stood, and it stood proud,
And the sun it soaked, nary a cloud.

It grew so tall, its leaves unfurled,
Around its stem a little vine curled.

Then one day I spied a miracle,
A birth greater than any biblical.

A flower with petals so pink
that those suited men stopped for a peek

And here I arrived at this little sight,
I found not just beauty, but a fight.

So here I write, I write for you,
I hope you win with your fight too.