Little flower sleeping sound,
In it’s bed upon the ground,
Simply happy it’s alive,
Threatened by a barbaric drive,

You hear a knock at the door;
And rush to see who it is,
Gingerly in your hands they place a single rose,
You smile and thank them; overjoyed,

Finding the best vase and filling it with water,
Thinking this flower deserves no other,
And as you admire and twirl you hair,
Little do you know or care,
The horrific torture your witnessing here,

Everything that lives must die,
True but everything that dies was once alive,
So what’s the difference between a flower;
A flower that was cut, put in water, and will knowingly die in a week,
And a child fighting a disease that could kill them?

The difference is we will go to the ends of the earth to save the child,
While we laugh and watch the flower die,
It’s a life for a life, eye for an eye,
And what does the poor little flower get in return,
Nothing,

So while you try to drift to dreams,
And forget the stress of the world as it seams,
Little do you know or care,
While you relax and lie there,
After you fall asleep and your pillow touches your head,
By tomorrow that little rose may be dead.