She’s not ashamed.
She rises, allowing her stem to grow high and gallantly.
Among the trash and ruin,
She blooms gloriously.
No one bothers to destroy her beauty.
Why would they?
For as they pass by,
She’s the only thing that stands for mercy, for grace, and for purity.
She’s so brave to take root in such a lot.
Must she know a purpose?
A reason to waste a season on the imperfections?
She is bliss for the oppressed and for the lonely.
Through whipping winds, rambling rains, and sweltering suns,
She simply dances with delight,
Never despairing until,
Her final departing calls her to a hibernation.