Within every kind heart lies a flowerbed,
Wherein sits two flower heads.
A flower for love.
A flower for the self.
Matters that cannot be dealt with by the head.
A symbol of the self,
a Butterfly Weed – fiery, wild,
A symbol of love,
a Gloxinia - muted, mild.
Both require patience, hard work, and dedication.
But both were denied their rightful appreciation.
The gardener selected for this part,
Had ceased to care from the very start.
The gardener had no patience, hard work, or dedication.
And it is their scorn that threatens to tear it apart.
What reckless neglect of someone’s heart.
Through these years the Gloxinia slowly dwindled,
Desperate for the love to be rekindled.
Wearing her favourite lilac dress, frantic,
Losing herself in her state of panic.
Alas, the gardener did not sway–and thus the Gloxinia withered away.
The Butterfly Weed continued to thrive,
Gardener or not, she will not die.
She would be her gardener, entirely self-made,
Whether in clay, or soil, in droughts or floods–
The will to stay alive runs through her blood.
Now, dear reader, I ask you—
Do you believe this story to be sad?
Is the loss of such a love, really all that bad?
The heart can finally start anew,
Maybe it is time, that you love you.
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