One of these things is not like the others,
One of these flowers is an island of blue;
She stands alone, amidst all the silver,
She isn’t ashamed of her different hue.
She isn’t aware that her petals’ arrangement
Stubbornly shouts out her personal flair;
She isn’t trying to mimic the snow-scape,
Or trying to squelch how she grows. Her air
Is one of contentment, of ‘I have arrived!’
She blooms where her seed has fallen by chance.
Her radiance, her difference, will draw all the eyes,
And hers is the visage that’s worth second glance.