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  • A Little Flower
    Kira Howe
    10 Aug 2003

    In my cell there is a flower
    But in the flower
    There is not a prison
    It is growing on the one sunned stone
    Where the moss has made a bed
    And little though the blue face is
    I speak to it
    And my voice is proud
    Were I to go away from here
    Would I miss the little flower
    That was witness to my sorrow?
    Yes, for
    Where the flower meets evil
    That is only the wildest of dreams
    That are known for dreams
    Before they are gone
    And though my little flower
    Is in my wretched prison
    My grief is not in the bloom