In the most hopeless garden.
A beautiful rose may bloom.
Amidst the thorns and barren earth.
To radiate sweet perfume.
In the darkest of places.
Where no light has ever shone.
The rose blooms there in splendor.
Despite darkness, it has grown.
Without the kiss of raindrops.
Or gentle morning dew.
It still bloomed forth in beauty.
In spite of it all, it grew.
For it gathered the light from deep within.
And drank from the chalice of hope.
There in the most hopeless garden.
In beauty, the rose did grow.
this piece of mind had been written at Saturday, April 16, 2005 by ::aM|Mo::