Wildflower was what they called her
Her beauty could make a man run wild with dangerous passion
Fiery like gazes watch her every step
But she never wanted to be wild
She wished she was a rose
She wished for the gentle touch the rose enjoyed
But what can she do? She is wild already
The deaf could even hear about her
But she wanted them to dance eerily
To the mystic rythm her soronous voice sang
Sang better songs than the songs of Solomon
She never wanted to compete
She just wanted her voice to mend broken hearts
In more ways than one
She loved the wildness and embraced it
She enjoyed the attention of her uniqueness
She knew nature can't be changed
But her character can be built overtime
Thank you for your time.
My pen doesn't bleed, it speaks, with speed and ease.
Still me,
My tongue is like the pen of a ready writer.
Olawalium; (Love's chemical content, in human form). Take a dose today: doctor's order.