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Poem

I’m the one that the winds enjoy torturing
The one being crushed under roaming feet
The only one feeling lonely during spring
I’m the most eager one to unfold my pleat,  
And rise again: tall, bright and smiling…
Pleated and crushed, but I keep moving on
Because my soft petals refuse to surrender.
 I would be dead, and my soul would be gone,
But my spirit never dies; strong but tender…
Survival is not an age, it is not a number.
It is a prize that must be earned and a token,
For all the flowers would proudly remember
The little Daisy who refused to remain broken.
My spirit that never dies would live inside
Every beating heart. As long as hope exists,
Every flower will gain glory and pride…
For every flower is a Daisy that resists. 
Standing tall in the greenness of the land,
I shall be a legend that survives the ages… 
I shall always be the beginning and the end,
The slave that shatters the slavery cages.
I’m the one that the winds enjoy torturing
The one being crushed under roaming feet
The Daisy that begins and ends with spring
The one that unfolds every single pleat…

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