Below the grounds of your soil my seeds rested -
Breeding roots of grass and tulips up to your feet

Viscously you marched over my veins -
Plucking out every last bit of my tender stems

However, tender you were in the rain;
Covering my petals from the liquid stains

But it was never for the love of my seeds;
Rather for the mere satisfaction of gazing at my blood in a vase near your sunny window

Your ignorance called it beauty
Yet, from way under the soil here ..

I called it ******