Cultivated in a common ground,
soil, pungent
yet pleasing.
The sunlight gleams over a family of five tilled seedlings, waiting for roots to anchor.
water,
sun,
air, and
time.

A prickly stem emerges from the base, diverging, yet remaining connected.
Spikes become thorns; petals begin to bloom.
Wonder blossoming.

She twists and turns to catch the light.
Flanked by two thorns--
brothers on each side.
Contortion is something she knows--
but cautiously.

The thorns will limit her reaches.
pricks,
punctures, and
tatters.
It cannot compare to the daisies
with bare stems.
   Exposed to impurities,
   daughters without
    brothers.

Sometimes the water stifles the petals, leaving them
squelchy.   
The soil often smothers her petals,
clogging its
  pores.

But her beauty is fortified.
Her petals augment a new shade.
Thickening,
and balancing.
The tatters induce a new form of her.
Without thorns, she’d be nothing but a
wilting
violet.
She would be fragile at the slightest touch.
  but she thanks her thorns
  and they remain--
Cultivated in a common ground.