Little flower, your basic needs,
Know you not of the world you grow.
My most troubling woes are but a distant breeze
Affecting nothing but to make you blow.
Little flower, know your worth,
The world that stings, looks down upon your simple life.
But I, little flower, will stay and observe,
Reminiscing of a time when I could ignore the strife.
Little flower, soon you’ll wither,
But cry you not, not even your mother.
Complex we seem, with our words
We write about these days that you notice not,
Unafraid of when you leave.
Now you are gone, my little flower,
On my path, no longer do you wake
Unaffected by our encounter.
With each passing day, I long again for your escape.
Alex Livingston – Year 11
