No one but God knew what a treasure 
You had become to me.
I remained alone; a solitary bud 
In a garden, scarred beyond blooming.
I cherished each day you would
Pass my way and speak kindly to me.

Petal by petal, color and fullness 
Began to appear where once survived 
A dried socket perched on withered roots,
Brandishing even drier petals.
As time went by, I began to swell and expand.

I began to radiate the nature of love.
The kindness of love 
Spoken from your lips 
Had secured thunder,lightning, and storms 
Upon my small plot of dried-up soil.

I considered myself to have been
The most fortunate of flowers.
I, alone, knew that I would never
Have assumed a full bloom,
As did all the others.
Someone had come by, long ago, 
And had spoken such cruelty to me,
That I had become as the living dead.

One day...
You came by, but instead of your
Words of kindness and love, 
You decided I was no longer worthy 
Of those words of life
That had so transformed me.
You went as far as to fasely 
Accuse me of being 
The wrong kind  of flower, 
When it was you, yourself,
Who had discovered me 
In my dry, desolate place.

Your words so withered me,
That I could  not bear it.
Instantly, my color faded, my bloom drooped 
And my roots once again
Dried beyond prior recognition.
If flowers had souls, only then,
Would I have understood 
How lost I had become at that moment.

Now, again...
I sit in a puddle provided by
The gods of thunder and lightning.  
In the midst of their generous offerings,
I remain dried and scarred beyond
My lowly beginnings.

Now... 
I am also afraid, lest
Someone lure me again with their
Kind words and promises of love.
The kind of love that must grow
Beautiful flowers in some other garden.