I like my women like I like my flowers, down to Earth, and she’s rooted to the concept. From her orchard, orchids cry out that she’s a beauty. A beauty as bold as baby’s breath but she’s not soft-spoken. It’s written in her blue-eyed, irises that she’s a stargazer with a heart made of marigolds, laced together by Queen Anne. She sprouted out of that cracked cement with tulips curled to the cosmos, greeting morning glories with a stellar smile, that I fell for like a shooting star. She’s a bloomed-beauty that’s bound to this Earth, and well, I’d pick her up any day.