She is wild. Strong and firm in her growth. And her convictions. She spreads out and owns the space about her. Rising high and golden as the sun lording over all at her feet. Earthy.Warm.Vibrant.
She is free. She cannot be contained. She will spread with the wind in all directions. An arresting spark of vivid beauty standing out on her own. Flourishing wherever she lands. And in whatever she chooses. Wistful. Dreamy. Bright.
She is enduring. Resistant to interference she will grow her own way. And go her own way. Petite but vigorous. She lies unassuming and catches by surprise. A tiny burst of jewel like splendor. Steadfast. Rich. Deep.
I may nurture. I may cherish. But in the end wildflowers cannot be contained.
They will conquer the world with stubbornness.
No grand roses, shrinking violets or delicate orchids here.
No wallflowers either ; ) That's the kind of garden I grow . .
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