A woman receives a blossom
of the one meant for her but once.
But I, like heroine of ages past
have not one love but two.

Just as a mother loves both her children
but in differences and personality
so do my loves vary so
like the flower and the ****.

The ****, feisty and strong in nature
blooms from the cracks in broken roads
unwilling to die or burn from the Sun's heat
beautiful to no other eyes but mine.

It grows in the roughest of spots
and yet your appeal blinds me
the hardy soul who touches mine own
yet a flower be you still.

Daffodils, daisies, beautiful and stout

The other a flower of delicateness
thin little petals unfurling in a ***
nature at its most gentle
to be easily torn and ripped to shreds.

Beauty is obvious in truest form
much love is needed to keep you well
the water of the heart dribbling from the brook
to make you flourish.

Can I not keep you both to me
to keep your loves in my vase on the window
to display all those perfections to the earth
and to keep you both in my arms?

No, it will never be so simple, will it?
So I must choose to survive
I know not to choose rashly
but, conflicted of mind, I stare deeply into the garden...