and yet, despite it all, the flower survives.

truth be told its not thriving,
but it is indeed surviving.
sure, sometimes it feels like crying; dying,
but when it feels better you can hear it sighing,

yet we can watch the flower grow,
its life continuing like a show,
surviving the summer and snow,
no matter what it seems to grow,

grow, little flower,
maybe tomorrow you'll get a shower,
of praise, of power,
but soon enough you'll tower.