A Marvel of Femininity

Pink tulip,
rather common place;
overlooked in favor
of sunflower’s beaming face;
lily’s stately stature;
the unblemished youth of shasta daisy.

Her fervent wish,
to be adored, romanced;
picked for her own
noteworthy qualities;
delicate pale, blushing skin;
strength of stem;
steadfast bloom.

She seeks spiritual illumination;
yearning for eyes to see
petals’ translucent shimmer;
dignity’s distinctive glow.
Notice the sway of her gait,
how she navigates the breeze;
a marvel of femininity.

No painted lady;
unadorned, pure of heart;
grace personified;
she lingers patiently.
Aching to fulfill her destiny;
praying not to whither in her spot,
waiting to take her rightful place;

perhaps, clasped in a bride’s hands;
as a get well bouquet's healing kiss;
or conveying words left unspoken
by a love struck beau.
Honored, she would be,
to hold such esteemed status,
making a difference;
assuming her fate so wondrously.

Remember the pink tulip,
long after her story is told.
She has hope, forbearance and pride;
yet, remains unaffected
by the sorrows of her youth;
the sting of rejection;
the shallowness of ignorance.