poem

I see a small, lone flower there,Growing beneath the green-leafed tree,Sheltered from wind’s relentless airAnd thriving in the sun’s warm plea. Its yellow petals streaked with red,Green leaves atop a sturdy stem.The murmuring breeze speaks overheadWhile in the air dances a wren. It stands alone, not with its kind;Its solitude becomes its grace.A rare discovery…