she could not be put in a pot,
yet she was still beautiful.
she grew on the side of a country road,
battered by wind,
scorched by sun,
drowned by rain,
she was going places alright.
she desired to travel to far away lands,
leaving everything behind but love and her own independence.
her roots were strong and deep,
but her willpower could move a mountain.
her flowers were not always in bloom,
and her leaves would not always face the sun,
came more often than you’d expect,
when she would grow,
she stretched tall and wide and lovely.
she loved like many could not,
and laughed more than many could.
she loved the little things in life.
and she took pictures of half the things she saw.
she wrote about her heartbreaks and her joys.
she hummed throughout the house,
and sang when she thought she was alone.
she danced constantly to the music in her head.
she was admired by many.
but hated by the few that saw her as a weed.
even through the winter, when everyone saw her as
she knew the One who had planted her.
an old gardener that lived just down the road.
He had watered her in drought and covered her in storms.
she tried her best to remember Him always.
even when her flowers were wilted and her leaves were shriveled,
He told her He loved her,
was all it took
for her to be lovely.