My Moon?
I'm not your priotry,
Nor do I care.
I've learnt my place, it's certainly not fair.
The flower dares to strive but dreams to grow,
but she doesn't know she needs more
than the moons faint silver glow.
Her petals begin to shrivel,wrinkle and drop.
She was no longer able to look up to the treetop.
Her sight becomes dim,twisted and slim,
For her flower petals becomes more dim.
She yerned and regretted rejecting the
warmth and the light,
As the moon only had to offer the night.
It's shadows casted stripping her bare,
But she was to blame as the dweller.
A lesson tought well as she wobbles and tobbles.
For a flower who dares to strive With only
a moon will not thrive.
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