Pretty Dead Flower


I grew a flower in the enemy’s garden
Unaided; without pardon
It grew up bold yet delicate
Rivaled only by a malnourished duplicate
Until the petals began to harden

The colors began to fade
In the scorching, diminishing glade
The stem began to curl
And on the wind, the leaves sought to twirl
Felled by humanity’s blade

So now I have a flower
Without a special power
In a garden that isn't mine
And who's beauty isn't divine
And I treasure it more than ever, my pretty dead flower

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