Down through the meadows
Green and lofty
Full of plain blades
Millions like the others
Walks a gent.
Searching
With his head up high
With nothing to compete against
Save his hopes.
And once did he chance
Upon a flower
Standing alone
In the meadows
Green and lofty
Full of plain blades
Millions like the others
But nay this one's odd.
She plants her roots
Of youthfulness
Firm underground
Not willing,
Not ready
To be taken away.
So the gent continues
With only the
Faintest scent
To remember
That unique one
Through the meadows
Green and lofty
Full of plain blades
Millions like the others.