A Red Painted Eustoma Lost In It's Petals Poem by Curtis Mosby

I wonder how a rose grow knowing it's beautiful.
How can another compare to that smell and color.
Only one flower is shape in this way but is not praise.
As lover pass by the eustoma they gaze at the unforgettable
plant.
Why should the other grow to die in the sun.
I can't bloom it causes me to lose my petals.
The rain seems to be the only thing that touches me.
Lonely in my soil I pray for oil to deaden my seeds.
The kids are taught for me not to be bought as a gift.
I lift no head my veins of pain struggle for water.
Then the day came after I lost almost every inch of me.
I was painted out of curiosity, I fell deep beneath my
old self.
But when hope was all gone, I was found amaze by this color
can stand out in the storm.
I felt wanted in the arms of someone as if they cared.
Where I come from no one at times even stared.
Until a child seem to change my appearance, from deep in the
meadows.
My life has a meaning know when I was found.
A red painted eustoma lost in it's petals.