Pretty

They ask me if I’m pretty and I don’t know what to do…

Pretty flowers come from stems that fought challenge as they grew.

My pretty is the little leaves that mark where I once was,

Pretty isn’t what a flower is, it’s what a flower does.

It opens to the morning sun and welcomes the unknown,

It sits in soil, deep with roots,

Both down and up it’s grown.

Don’t ask me if I’m pretty,

Know I am, so is she, and her too!

Pretty isn’t what you decide it is, it’s the stories that run through.

That pretty flower does not wilt when you decide it to be bland,

The roots stay planted in the ground, as she continues to be grand.

Each flower different, none the same

We all give and need uniquely.

A flower may look different by the day, the month, or weekly.

My pretty is the little leaves that mark where I once was.

Pretty isn’t what a flower is, it’s what a flower does.

One thought on “Pretty

  1. oh my goodness rose! this is SO beautiful and made me cry! I love that so much, “Pretty is not what a flower is, it’s what a flower does…” I’m going to remember that! and you are definitely pretty in all those ways:)!

    Like

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