I have a flower, in a vase, sitting on my window sill
There are no other flowers on my window sill
        Just a rose.
This rose is special,
It hasn't died since I picked it.

The life of this rose depends on me.
No other flowers can exist on my window sill,
No other flowers can fit in the vase.
Just that flower, in that vase, on my window sill.

Walking through a garden, I see another flower.
Better than the rose in some ways,
but not in others.
      This flower is a lily.
My heart immediatly begins to tear in two.

So now I face a dilema.
Pick the lily, or let it die.
Keep the rose, or let it die.
Either way, one must die.
And I am stuck between two beauties.
I need a flower, in a vase, on my window sill.

So I delve deep.
I think broadly.
I remember something.
My favorite flower is an orchid.
I have a feeling my orchid is in a distant garden,
waiting to be picked --
       by me.
This orchid will be
My flower, in my vase, on my window sill.

And so I can live with the outcome of the lily
      or the rose
And I just hope they don't die
that someone else's favorite flower
     is a lily
     or a rose.
Because I know that something is going to happen
that will bring me closer to my favorite flower.
So I must be patient.
And just wait for
My perfect flower, in my perfect vase, on my window sill

It's been so long.
My vase has been empty
for fear of selfish gardening.
I had almost given up completely.

My favourite flower was always an orchid.
I thought I had found it long ago,
but it seems my orchid is a rarer breed;
it takes much more care to sow.

I happened across it on a lively night
in a garden full of flowers.
My lily had just turned to poison;
it's amazing what lust devours.

My orchid had seen many vases,
some much nicer than mine
and yet it chose to flower then
and look entrancingly divine.

For a couple years I watered it
from far away, safe from my touch of war
I was afraid that I would squander it,
like I had so many times before.

But the orchid was just like me,
adventurous and curious.
Though we couldn't be together
we let each other be flirtatious.

And silently we grew together,
and my orchid came to me,
and my whole world came together
even if only very briefly.

Now I sit here writing this,
looking at my orchid, in my vase, on my window sill,
and I look back at myself and realize;
I'm HIS flower, in HIS vase, on HIS window sill.