The One Left in the Dark
Born in the shade where the cold roots creep,
a bud stayed small in the soils deep sleep.
Others rose early, all petals and praise,
while it stayed twisted through endless days.
Whispers called it a withered mistake,
a bloom too broken to ever awake.
Yet cracks in the darkness let one truth through,
the rarest flowers bloom out of view.
When dawn at last brushed its quiet face,
it opened slow with a fierce, strange grace.
Not meant for gardens that bloom on time,
its beauty waited, then struck sublime.
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