A flower in my shower, a sketch on a canvas of steam,
What an unlikely place for such a pitiful flower to be.
The petals are repulsive and it’s leaves dwarfed by the lack of light,
amazing how plainly it is shined to me on this night.
A symbol of cowardice, a symbol of blame,
a symbol of the antipathy-the gardener hath made.
When I think I have hope and turn my eye to see the sun,
I face only darkness and thunderclouds above.
The flower is out of place, not worthy of the surrounding rose;
it bears no fruit and contaminates the soil.
Pluck it now and strip the roots
or transplant the heirloom and let her live in a proper garden.
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