There is always this flower,
Ever so beautiful, Ever so lovely.
A flower that grows just right for my soul;
But a flower in someone else's garden.

I'd water her,
Each time I passed her by.
She grows no thorns to my skin,
Delicate to her very core.

But as she is beautiful,
Often attract other passersby.
They too would try to nurture her;
And often too she would fall for them.

How could I even save a flower;
That was never mine in the first place?

-HIY