Flower in the Prison Yard

Few things in life can ever be so very hard
As bursting forth a flower in the prison yard;
Surrounded by surly walls and iron discipline
A thing of beauty ringed by the obscene.

No butterflies or bees will land upon your face,
No other flowers to appreciate your grace;
Just grey and scornful scowls everywhere.
To be a flower in a place like this is most unfair.

You'll bloom and open up your petals wide
Hoping that nature love and friendship can provide,
But only silence and emptiness will heed your call
To be a flower in the prison yard ain't good at all.

So many delicate and gentle wights amongst us all
Exist like flowers trapped behind a grimy wall,
Whose blossoming finds no response from soulless souls,
Who scorn and laugh at their hopes and goals.

We, humans, have no roots to keep us down fast,
And we can move around the world that's vast,
And if your qualities do not attract regard
No need to be a flower in the prison yard.

Uproot yourself and go where other flowers dwell,
Where bees and other insects will your petals smell,
Where joy by sullenness and snit is never marred,
Where you won't be a flower in the prison yard.