She is beautiful.
She sits alone, solitary.
Fragrence flows from her flesh,
yet she still sits, breathing the air of the valley.

Delicate she is,
her petals billow in the wind.
She is perfection.
A lie could never fall from her tounge.

Xochitl, flower.
Flower...
shes so sickiningly sweet.
Delicate, sweet, perfect.

When she bloomed she sung.
A magestic hymn that rung through the valley.
One day she'll wilt, her petals falling to the ground.
One day her song will stop.