Does the rose have hopes of red
A longing for a certain shade
Velvet texture crimson
And is that rose disappointed
By its hue of white yellow or pink
Or does that rose grow
In the shade of its genetic distinction
Glowing softly in the evening light
And will the dandelion cry
That it is not a rose
And lacks the thorns and reverence
Bestowed upon its kin
Will it wish to be gathered into bouquets
Symbolizing love
Or is it happy to be medicinal
Golden sunspots on the lawn
Will it revel in its distinction
Pithy roots and hollow stemmed
And will I grow in my distinction
Into the form genetically bestowed
Taking talent and experience
Mixed with trials and errors
And grow within and without my bounds
Not looking at the rose or at the dandelion
With envy or disdain
Can I pull courage from the earth itself
And hopes down from the sky
Transmuting ethereal energy into a
Common cosmic flow
Of love
Will I dance in gentle breezes
And bend low in the storm
Will the sunlight bid me open
And the twilight bid me close
But most of all will I grow here
In this individual distinction
Let my colors be my colors
Without regret or woe
Let my texture be my texture
Each leaf and petal flowing
Out from center
In its predetermined pattern
And will I choose to walk a path
And a destiny pursue
Which will add to life’s collection
Of bountiful blessings
Will I bloom
