Phil Wall

The Flowers

At the heart of every violet, is a rose
A beautiful idea that always grows.
However, it cannot die, and is always reborn
Presenting us with life, now allowing us to mourn.

Each flower; every unsymmetrical shape
Is unable to be disguised, by the same form of drape.
Whether it grows out of light, or in the plainest view
Their life is not theirs, whatever they do.

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