I am the seed that never grew,
A flower lost in morning dew.
In fields of love, I stood apart,
The soil was there, but cold and dry,
No hands to lift me toward the sky.
I reached for warmth, for light, for
care,
But found the emptiness of air.
A garden left untended long,
Where weeds grew wild, roots went
wrong.
No voice to guide me, no sun to see,
A child apart, untaught to be.
Now as a tree, my limbs are bent,
By winds of years in discontent.
I sway alone, a brittle thing,
Afraid of what the storms might bring.
But still I dream of gentle rain,
Of tender hands to ease the strain-
a garden's hope, though late it
seems,
To sprout again, to trust in dreams.
The buds of hope being to bloom,
A tender promise through the
gloom.
What once was lost, I now reclaim-
A garden grown in my own name.
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