And I don’t want her to be.

I don’t want her swaying in the breeze,

Moving this way and that on the flight of fancy of the wind.

I want her growing strong roots

Deep beneath the surface

Twisting their way into the earth,

Creating foundations, holding her own ground.

Unless giving freely is what she chooses.

I don’t wish for her to be simply beautiful,

(Which so often means beautifully simple)

I wan’t people to stop still in their tracks

Look at her unique colours, stop to take in her scent

Wonder what exotic place she comes from

That she was able to grow so wild and free.

I don’t imagine her little at all.

I want her to fill a room, until it overflows with her,

Not ladylike, but powerful

Not delicate, but extraordinary.

I can’t picture her on a manicured lawn

Under a cloche

Protected from the elements, not her.

I see her at all ages, in my mind’s eye.

Raging against the heat of the sun

Dancing in the rain

Moving with the wind

Laughing at the storm she creates around her

And I smile, and smile and smile.

Not a delicate little flower at all.

A powerful, strong-willed woman in the making.