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Oct 2024
You’re not meant for the garden,
where hands pull what they want,
where blooms are here and gone,
just flashes before they fall.

You belong on the mountain,
half-hidden, wrapped in mist,
beyond reach of those
who’d never think to climb.

They might call you dandelion,
like something easy, everywhere—
they want you to bloom right here,
to grow wild, to bend for them.

But you, you are something rare—
rooted deep, untamed,
meant for hands that will climb for you,
that know just what you’re worth.

So hold your place on that hill,
where the ghost orchid blooms alone,
not in the crowded garden’s rows—
but somewhere that’s wholly your own.
Ariana Emu
Written by
Ariana Emu  22/F
(22/F)   
20
 
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