The flower doesn't bloom until it's ready
But when it blooms the world beholds its beauty
As the glory of its effort shines through the smoke
So many bridges burned just to restore dead yolk
The people understood their mistakes
Removing the flower from its birthplace
Was not only cruel, but masochism
Replanting the flower in bitter soil increased its metabolism
It hungered for the mountain pass
But lingered in the shadows of the overpass
It gazed upon its home wrapped in concrete
It realized it had become obsolete
So it ravaged the land surrounding it
Taking from the crops, turning them into pits
Pits so dry that the bees using it began to die
The sun couldn’t provide enough nourishment from the sky
The grass grew tan, and the plants fell over
The least lucky of them all, was the four leaf clover
With no pollen to make things grow
The field became a famine of sorrow
The people studied and attempted to restore the broken field
But the flower bloomed brightly, gazing through its tears
Its red petals roared like flames
They gave this flower a gruesome name
Yet, it bloomed on, hoping the humans would move along
It grew tired of the sad song; being abused all day long
Feeding was its only focus
Even with its stems on the verge of combustion
There was no water left to satisfy
The flower hung low, prepared to die
But a hand reached down from the sky
A man looked down upon the flower with his little eye
He planted the flower back in its home and restored its life
He took the last seeds and made more flowers for his wife
The flower bloomed brighter than its first day alive
From its roots to its petals it shined
Feeling appreciated once more for its beauty
It continues to bloom right along with its family