I tell of a story that asks a question, "Can you love a flower, or maybe three or two?"
I tell of a story that asks that question, yes, I do.
There could be not a sweeter faery in the land. She would hop and flit from blossom to blossom and care for them all with a gentle hand.
She knew the joy that these blooms gave others and they meant,
the world these petaled sisters and brothers.
She and the bees had a love, uncompared, for those blooms that they tended, the blooms that they shared.
So, in the morning when they woke to see the flowers shine in their bed,
The faery's proud, happy tears on the blooms were shed.