Whence Cometh You? Poem by Steven Rodgers

 Whence cometh your need to make me see?
The secrets held within,
The buds bursting on the hidden canopy,
Stretched atop the city sin.

Wherefore the buds they hide?
Years they lied in wait,
Within held purity supplied,
And deep pain they abate. 

So intense the colors gleam,
Shine out the gray facade,
A stoic force, a fighting team,
Worth every accolade. 

Whence cometh your need to make me see?
That which long contrived,
Three in exchange for me,
And four were thus revived.