by L.L. Lynch
There is a wild flower in a field
And in the breeze she called to me
So strong and tall up to my knees
But all alone amongst the weeds.
Her buds, they bloom like butterflies
From tight cocoons towards the skies
Each one, a different lullaby
That she has sung into the night.
Standing lonely in the shade
Afraid one day you pass her way
And foolishly think she needs to be saved
Plucking her wild roots all up and away.