I am born, a budding Iris, in a field of daisies,
an ocean of life: ashened white, and golden yellow,
swaying gently in the wind, of singing cello,
stems: of pristine emerald green, in such vivacity,
A cloud of descending white, do they mingle as one,
infinitely, do their hues run, endlessly alive,
solitary, amethyst pedals – I do so, survive,
failing to blend, my sisters become ignorant,
I fight for enthusiasm of life, my dear,
the sun, an amber light in the expanding sky,
breaths heat onto my fair neighbors as I imply,
frozen stem, beneath my wholly deprived wilting bud,
For it has not, encompassed a flower, for days on end,
life has been forgotten, the meaning so blurred,
gray death, a powder upon my pedals so obscured,
what breath of life, shall come, and whisk away this evil?
A difference, another bud: has been born,
a single orchid against my deadening side,
one of deep color, and deeper inset pride,
honor to live, through all of this indistinguishable life,
Your stem, of rich greens and birth of elegant leaves,
tightly entwined around mine, supporting my head,
reading my heart: as one that has bled,
velvety pedals, brushing my soul; with warming light,
Together we live, our lives in a field of daises,
an Iris of deep violet, alone no more,
with my love, the Obsidian Orchid, his touch – I adore,
in unity: our love shall support one and other: until infinity.
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