Gardener, wildling and weed

That one blossomed in the garden
Joyous as could be
She, untouched by man and weather,
An envy to see.

She was one spring,
Sought by this gardener with care
One who bent down on his knee
To lift her upright with his hands bare.

He picked out his hat in summer-time
To enjoy sunshine by her fragrant side
And she in turn would turn unto him her hue
Kissed by a man of this kind.

But like any man was he
As the days grew cold
He wouldn’t show up anymore
She peeped at the gate
while her spirit grew sore

She thought to herself
‘Now you leave me to the nature
You are not there when I cry
You would not know when my life freezes
You would not know when I die.’

To comfort the blossom’s wilting leave
Crawled by a sneaky weed.
She leaned for comfort
Unaware of the thief encroaching the dirt.

Running out of air
She cut her own shoot
She had to leave her bed
Leaving behind traces of her root.

She would go by the wildling
Who plucked her when he was young
I will die young, she thought, at least in the arms of one
Who would hold me till I am done.

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