Flowers blooming is a lovely feeling,
A feeling often innocent and pure,
A feeling often nurtured.
A flower in its prime,
Most are drawn to,
Will the flower survive,
Or will the flower break like the rest?
Hands left or right, murdering innocence,
But won\'t realize the pain caused,
Until too late.
Most won\'t understand the parasites,
Like Heart Root to a tree,
A snare to a fox,
Most won\'t even see,
An open Pandora\'s box,
Or a life with its heart out.
Flowers will decay,
As the balance will be reset,
Until life can no longer give,
And death can no longer take.