From “The colour of wheatfields”
Tiny little flower growing in the dry land
The only green shade in the desert
How did it find a way in this arid empty place
To emerge from the sand?
Perhaps it’s here to be noticed by the little prince
When he falls down.
When he can’t stand anymore
And this beautiful flower comforts his soul that is sore.
This flower is like a rose
But it doesn’t have thorns
And it is strong.
Perhaps it lives thanks to the prince’s tears
They must be like a symbiosis.
Otherwise this tiny flower.
How could it conquer the desert?
How did it manage
Despite the heat
Despite the dryness
To appear and soothe this little prince’s sadness?
And it’s fragile
Which may be why
The little prince will cry
So that the flower doesn’t go.
There might never be any other plant in the desert
The flower must know that maybe
It will always be alone on the dry sand.
With a prince that often cries
But not always
But that doesn’t mean that the flower will die.
Whoever can find themselves in the flower
Must know that they have a place
And as tiny as it can be
What’s essential is that they were able to make their way through the rocks
To emerge from the dust of a dry heart
They brought life to a place no one thought they had a chance.
They are a matter of importance.
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