Born in the corner
Proper shadow, hauling her
When all inform her; it’s
To be
The other way round

In truth, she
Is to be ignored

Heart made of wood
Carved, detailed
But one whittle
Too great

Disfigured, is what it will be called
No matter how remarkable
It was, to start with

Nothing to be done
After that

Then came
Who?
But the flower man

Draining her body movements
He took, information
Of which
None had branded

Presented her a lily
Forgetting her bad day, for her

Soon as she smiled, he was assured
The right flower was given

Always; mistaken for a weak smile
Though, it wasn’t

Her palid face
Curled it’s slender lips
In such a way

She was thinking
why?
Appreciated, obviously—but why?

Lily; white flower
Freedom, prosperity
And purity

Like her

They take a long time to grow
But
When they do

The fragrance, is
Subsequently so, luscious it’s a dew

Unique
Like the feather of a peacock

Green, red, yellow, blue
Every eccentric color at hand

His flower
Made her suppose

Maybe; Perhaps
There might be a slight chance

She
Wasn’t cursed

but possibly
blessed