A drop of rain, it tears into a mistful pond,
Washing sands of time and dusts the dirt and worst of crime.
Its innocence follows the flowers that grow,
On the dry shore, in the dim shadow.
Wanting light and hope from fear,
Its petals fight, its beauty near.
Looming for the bluest sky,
Between the clouds, the moon and suns red rise.
Reach as she, her streching green.
As if to stir the darkness in between.
Grow and love and bloom my child.
My flower of the water, my rose of the wild.