Standing

I feel my feet standing firmly against the ground,
but I feel like floating.
I can feel that I am home bound,
but I feel like fleeting.

As petals fly swiftly between my fingertips,
a bud landed on my palms.

A sweet, fragile bud.

A colour of a shy blush,
with the gentleness of a mother,
and softness of a lady.

As I cup my hands around it, protecting it,
the bud was shriveling.

Unstable, but this bud kept me on my ground.
And the stronger I protect it,
the stronger the bud is,
the stronger I stand.

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Standing

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