There's a flower, grown on Planet Love.
May it's species be wiped out soon, they say, as it will be departing from our sights in just a few years.
She may grace us with her beauty.
She may be kind.
She will be friends, she will share her mind.
But never her heart, as that she does not have.
While she cares, while she sings, while she cries, she does not love.
Thy flower will never blossom red or pink, only her own color, of which I do not share.
My petals are falling, only her to look up to, though she won't be here long.
We will share an embrace, and she will be gone.
Her petals are vibrant, though dampened by betrayal.
She protects me from dangers, however fearful to stray herself away from them.
Though, my petals are wilted, never to be bright as when I was sprout.
I must grow past her, as even with the beauty, she will never return the commitment.
However, I cannot stretch past my current stand, only stay I must be, until long after she leaves.
Her soil is a nest, of which the very best.
Tis false hope, however, as her nest will stay behind, and she will visit another.
One day, she may stop, and she may stay, perhaps.
That day is not today.
For now, I admire, I astonish.
As though she shall not stay now, she shall not leave.
We stay here in meantime, as I soak in the essense of what I can only wish to be her love.
There's a flower, grown on Planet Love.
