A flower she was

Waking up everyday

With sun above her head

Water flowing beneath her feet

Wind dancing her to the beat

A flower never picked

For she was not the fairest

Her skin not as white as snow

Her hair not as black as ebony wood

Just Red

Bloody red

The gardener's son came one day

With twinkling eyes

Like the stars in evening

With warm smile

Like the sun in morning

He came for one reason

To pick what he likes best

To get the prettiest

All the other flowers

Stood pretty and tall

With their sweet fragrances

All was at their best

Except for one

Standing alone

Her head bowed

She knows she'll never be

She tried a lot of times before

She was just ignored

But who says fairy tales

Are just tales

A miracle perhaps

When he stood by her side

And bent down to pick her up

Happiness filled her head

Her heart soared

Red was the fairest

But just as he held her

With a strong grip

She felt pain like never before

Her body was ripped

Morning became night

Her feet now dry

Last gasp of air

She was the fairest

She was the prettiest

Bloody Red she was

Now she is cold and dead