Among the thorns,
there is a flower.
Waving freely, whenever
there is a wind shower.

Buzzing bees, and
roaming butterflies,
chirping birds,
trees singing choirs.
Smiling and giggling
beneath the Sun-shine,
Shining brighter,
when the Moon does rise.
Among the thorns,
there is the Flower
Valley smelled with its
fragrance, whenever
there is a wind shower.

Various patterns, and
colourful petals,
the Flower feared
only the bettles....