By RugileGad

A purple flower that gives off sorrow,
Is growing in a yellow field.
She’s longing dearly for tomorrow,
And can’t wait for the coming yield.

The day has come and bees are swarming,
But the dream of meadow still awaits,
All the workers finished farming –
Seems the purple’s in the wrong place.

While mystique of nature’s neighbours grow,
She herself is left behind.
Why is she a child of woe?
It’s the greatest trouble of her life.

But at last, she’s vacillating.
Does she need to be as others?
Being lonely is so frustrating,
Yet she won’t change herself another.