Growing slowly over time.
Sun and soil are not needed to spark this life.
Its independence is extraordinary.
Leaves fall over time but none touch this single soul.
The pigment increasing after years of pain.
It becomes more beatiful with its sharpe edges, but soft look.
Never ending beauty for its beholder.
Too few will hold it in thier hearts..
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem