Flower

At last my feet brake the shell.
Through the soil they shall dwell.
Up through the dirt I will grow.
Towards the great lights glow.

From dark clouds rain falls.
Water sucked through my open halls.
My roots spread, and go deep.
A bud formed, in my sleep.

Morning comes I will bloom.
Even if the sky is gloom.
I’m beautiful to someone’s eyes.
I’m picked by great surprise.

I’m taken to, a glass vase.
That is why, deaths my case.