To Come From Soil

If tall roses are red
And small violets blue
And brown is the filthy ground in which the flowers grew,

Then my words can be gorgeous
And will not be overtook
By the effigy I show the world; my exterior, my look.

For proven by these flora
Is that anything can spawn
From the plainest of beginnings; you are not what you were born.

                                            -c.h.f

Petals and People

I wish I was a flower blowing in a summer breeze,
I wish I could sway to and fro, feeding all the bees.
I wish I would be looked upon with love and adoration,
Beautiful as a rose, bright as a carnation.

Instead I am but glanced upon, then at once forgotten.
For I am not a precious bud, I'm much less silk than cotton.
So yes I do wish that I looked so elegant and splendid,
But the beauty of a flower cannot ever be contended.

A human being cannot sway, pushed only by the air,
A human being instead can feel that wind whip through their hair.
For I am not a flower, I cannot ever be,
But I am something even greater: I, my dear, am me.

                                            -c.h.f