I could fret that my petals don’t match,
That some are shaped inconceivably small;
I could complain that my stem is too weak,
That I’m leaning too far, that my blossom might fall.
I could gripe that I’m alone in this place,
That none of my kind are in near proximity;
I could worry that I’ll soon lose face,
That in aging, my bloom will meet fragility.
But I could boast that my petals are unique,
That the sizing and arrangement reveal a rare soul;
I could revel in the stem that is so weak,
For it teaches me to lean on my Saviour as my goal.
I could learn to develop inner skills,
So that being all alone is not a lonely place;
I could rejoice that my hidden mental frills
Will replace my outer shell, and the fleeting bloom of face.
I could choose to see my world in sun,
Instead of drenched with gloom, in darkness overwhelmed;
I could seek to serve the Living One,
And live my days with Gratitude at my heart’s helm!