Love is a flower.
At first, not even knowing what it will be,
But then it blooms,
Sometimes gracefully,
For others it is a bumpy road.
As the growing comes to an end,
It will grow into a unique and beautiful flower.
After all is grown, it will wilt,
Living as it should have,
But the most beautiful in the garden are taken,
Chopped before it can be what it was meant to be.
The most beautiful of flowers,
The ones who deserve to live,
They're the ones who live the shortest.