Pocket Full of Posies
Who knew that when they picked her she'd wither.
How could she know they would change?
Suddenly full of venom and slither.
Starving her roots, dark clouds fail to produce
A heavy downpour that would help nourish the wilt
So sure enough when she was loss, it was time for another pick.
I quit, they said. Now off to play the field.
While she lay battered and weary
that only the love of the sun could heal.
Dark clouds produce and the sun shines bright.
So she lay back and soaked it in,
knowing everything would be alright.
Cause after every storm there's a calm again
So she lay back and let the sun love her
Knowing she's grow tall again.
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