Lily of the valley


The skies were dark, as lily walked down the lane
Her tiny nose turned crimson

Determined was the backpack on her shoulder,
Ready to make a break through

She smelled like her last home-made coffee,
flavoured by a tinch of anxiety

She sounded like the rattling change,
from her childhood piggy
A ticket to London,some lemongrass on the way

Recalling her childhood with every sip,
every scar and word of hate
She crashed them like her empty cup

Free as a bird,she took a flight,
set on a journey to bloom again.

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