She blooms where no one looks—
By the roadside, in quiet fields,
Cradled by dust, kissed by wind,
A whisper the world barely yields.
Cloaked in robes of gentle white,
A sun-kissed heart of yellow gold,
She holds no throne, no vase, no name,
Yet tales of grace remain untold.
You won't find her in crowded parks,
Nor gardens trimmed with human pride.
To know her, you must stoop a little—
Let your rushing soul subside.
She asks for nothing but your pause,
A moment, brief, without pretense.
And when you meet her open gaze,
She breaks your silence with her sense.
So here she stands—humble, shy,
In places feet forget to tread,
An unseen queen with a simple truth:
The lowliest bloom lifts heads.
