Put her in the flower press,
Leave her there for two weeks,
I wonder what you will find,
When you lift up those two sheets.

Her worries and her fears,
Staining the once pure paper,
Bled out dry for the world to see,
Knowing what was able to break her.

First there is loneliness and sadness,
They stain the pages blue,
You can see her anxieties,
Where she has worried about what to do.

That is not all that develops,
Something may take you by surprise,
A golden ambition hides insider her,
Hidden behind her wistful eyes.

Where once there was fear, there is love,
A passion bursting through,
It grows slowly, as she is pressed more,
And gold replaces that sad hue.

Take her out of the flower press,
Look at her as a whole,
She may have struggles sometimes,
But there is brightness deep within her soul...