The Starting End

She nourished her garden with passion
Though as a flower herself
Was not let to blossom
Embodied with love seemed as she had bathed in it forever
Her pores entrenched
But it was as foreign to her as to the seed without soil

As green as spring grass born were her eyes
With hues that exposed emptiness of her trodden garden of youth
Her hair raged a poppy red that deceived the temperment
Of her heart of patience and calm

Her words were whispers of apologetic tone
Gracing the air for acceptance
Choosing gentleness while as a child her gift
Was the pain of the thorns
Instead of the beauty of the rose

On a harrowing journey she shed those thorns
Leaving old pastures behind
She rose to the sky of her future
To cultivate her own garden of life

Potting new earth as she weeded her soul
Dredging her tears from scars of the thorn
Lessons on nature of life self-taught
She put seed to soil her flowers now born