Amid the rocks in silence laid,
A blossom shy, in sun and shade,
With petals kissed by blush of spring,
It wakes the wind with whispering.
No garden wall, no hand to guide,
Yet beauty dares the mountainside.
Each leaf a note in nature’s tune,
Each bloom a poem beneath the moon.
It does not bloom for eyes alone,
But for the breeze, the bee, the stone.
And in its quiet, wild perfume,
It fills the air with desert bloom. 0 reply
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