Primrose Flower
Merely of a flower,
Nothing special or petite,
Nothing quite so intricate,
Or sweet, No no,
Only a picture of,
A Primrose yellow,
Vivacious and callow,
Filled with life and vitality,
Life and the Primrose flower,
Compares me to a lulling song,
Quaintly restoring my heart,
To feel free from hurt,
Or Woe or pain or dismay,
Or tragedy or fear of anything,
Everything is left to be a fight,
Not violent or aggressive,
But passionate and slight,
Like the Primrose flower,
Sits untainted and small,
Enough to fit in my palm,
In my memory uplifting and tall,
Like a cherished love,
A small babe,
Or a lil bird,
A thrush or dove,
The flower battles,
Wind, rain and storms,
Fending off enemies,
At natures inquest,
My heart becomes a torrent,
Exchanging my interest,
In the Primrose flower.
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