I’m sorry you never bloomed,
You never grew petals of color.
You don’t shine a beautiful hue,
For you’ve grown to be another.

As a growing sprout,
You were stepped on and crushed.
A growing cloud of doubt,
Turned all your hope into dust.

So in your seasons of bloom,
You noticed you began to wilt.
Your leaves, the face of gloom,
Your stem, filled with guilt.

You’re not yet full grown,
But anyone can see.
A wilting sprout unknown,
Will only mature to be a ****.

And now a dying plant,
With nutrients sour.
When your mind is askant,
Your heart still weeps to flower.