I was torn in the winter breeze, When the rain would shred my petals off. I found sublimity in the chaos. Happiness in the torture. Now I grow my petals to be so ripe, For them to bloom in spring showers. Photosynthesising under the sun. Exchanging sorrows for sweet cherry pies. Who knows what summer skies will hold; If the heat will dry me out. Or suppose my petals grow so ripe. I hope to tell the tale on. Then the cycle will continue, As the breeze gets even stronger. Experience will make my stem stand tall. I won’t give into all that torture.