My flower stood in the meadow, her face upturned to the sun, and the gentle breezes caressing her shorten hair. Her eyes were bright like the morning dew, and her smile bloomed like a flower in spring.
My flower is a woman, and yet she was more than that. She was a force of nature, a tempest of passion, and a gentle breeze of love. Her beauty was not just skin deep; it radiated from within her, illuminating everything around her like a beacon of light.
As my flower walked, the grass rustled beneath her feet, and the petals of the wildflowers leaned towards her. It was as if they knew the magic she carried within her, and they longed to be closer to her, to bask in the warmth of her love.
With each step my flower took, she left behind a trail of fragrance, a scent that lingered long after she was gone. It was a scent of hope, of love, and of dreams. It was a scent that called out to all who were lost, all who were searching for a path, a purpose, or a home.
My flower is a woman, but she was also a flower. She
was a rose, a lily, a daisy, and a sunflower. She was every blossom that ever
bloomed, and yet she was unique. My flower is a woman, and she was beautiful
compared to an Angel.
