Not born of one, yet kin to all,
We sprout from seeds that gently fall.
Nurtured by the sun, by rain, by grace,
We climb and weave in nature's space.

Whose fruit are we? A mingled breed,
Of sun and soil, of wind and seed.
From countless hands, our essence grows,
A tapestry where every petal shows.

We bloom, we wither, time takes flight,
Yet in our essence, all unite.
For in the end, beneath the sun,
We're simply fruit, become as one.