Hath not a flower feelings?
Hath not a flower seasons of joy sorrow and confusion,
where it will bloom wilt and shut?
Nourished with the same sunlight and water, hurt if uprooted, healed when planted in fertile soil.
If you neglect us, do we not wither?
If you take parts of us, do we not still stand with our roots firm?
If you tend to us, shall we not produce fruit of laughter?
In growth, do we not bud differently?
To disguise ourselves and our insecurities, do we not paint ourselves in colors?
If you edify us, do we not emit fragrant perfumes?
If you insult us, will we not droop upon the lake, self-conscious of our image?
If we are grieved, do we not dance with the wind?
And if you damage us, shall we not put up thorns to defend ourselves?