It rises up from the ashes of the aftermath,
A smoky cloud of color,
puffed up with deceit.
Swirling around the flower like a swarm of bee’s,
It jeers at the rosebud,
clenching the water away from her innocent surface.
Unable to reach the cloud’s expectations,
she weeps a song of rejection.

The wind flows into her composition
and whispers words of inspiration,
altering the soul of the song,
tuning the flower’s drooping petals
and turning them right side up.

Delicate as the flower may be,
she overcomes the foul fume,
and absorbs the droplets.
The vicious smoke,
surrenders,
ashamed of it’s behavior.

The flower floats into the sky,
Gliding higher and higher,
until it reaches the top of eternity.