It is true that The hyacinth flowers on the hill Will be trampled and muddied By the calloused, bare feet of all who tread there Until they are dead and rotted But I ask you to find a place Where the streams flow rapidly, Harsh and unforgiving, Dangerous enough so that no man will dare cross, No hand may pluck you from the ground And grow there. Next to the water of the stream, In the midst of all else good and holy, Safe from the reaches of men, You will grow, Bright purple and untarnished, Stunning in your own right And I will walk the dead hill, I will try and brave the harsh waters, If only to see you with my own eyes.
I wrote a poem inspired by an old poem. Guess which one? It's rlly obvious loll anyways sorry for the weird language and stuff I'm not used to writing in other styles