another nickname
New member
I need to hand it out at school so be honest please
It was a seed just as to begin with…
Everyday, it was watered by the rain;
and glittered shiny by the sun,
that always shines high above.
We never gave it any regrets.
We never felt it would be useless,
to take care of it, or to cherish it…
It was just a treasure, our very own treasure…
Just to look at it…
starting as the slightest, smallest thing.
Willing it to grow,
give us hope, just a reason to keep on.
And we wondered everyday;
whether it would grow up,
like others’ flowers,
their beautiful flowers.
All of different colors,
though not exactly vividly colored,
so bland and unreal,
certainly not our ideal.
And we wondered everyday;
whether it would dry up some day,
like others’ flowers,
their dried flowers.
Fear had reached us of losing it.
Being haunted by the thought of deserving it…
Yet, to realize at the end of time,
that others’ flowers weren’t real as ours.
Theirs might not dry,
No one might fear they would die;
yet what would life be with no fright?
Because of fear we take care of what we’ve got…
I know it might be gone some day,
having been hurt by the lack of sun and rain.
But at least I’m aware that that day,
we’ll all see a new seed to regain.
oh my, you could've at least pretended to be nice
It was a seed just as to begin with…
Everyday, it was watered by the rain;
and glittered shiny by the sun,
that always shines high above.
We never gave it any regrets.
We never felt it would be useless,
to take care of it, or to cherish it…
It was just a treasure, our very own treasure…
Just to look at it…
starting as the slightest, smallest thing.
Willing it to grow,
give us hope, just a reason to keep on.
And we wondered everyday;
whether it would grow up,
like others’ flowers,
their beautiful flowers.
All of different colors,
though not exactly vividly colored,
so bland and unreal,
certainly not our ideal.
And we wondered everyday;
whether it would dry up some day,
like others’ flowers,
their dried flowers.
Fear had reached us of losing it.
Being haunted by the thought of deserving it…
Yet, to realize at the end of time,
that others’ flowers weren’t real as ours.
Theirs might not dry,
No one might fear they would die;
yet what would life be with no fright?
Because of fear we take care of what we’ve got…
I know it might be gone some day,
having been hurt by the lack of sun and rain.
But at least I’m aware that that day,
we’ll all see a new seed to regain.
oh my, you could've at least pretended to be nice