Blossom

I picked a rose randomly on a walk with Queen last week. The lyrics to a very familiar song brought back that memory. I agree women are like flowers, from the outside appearance to the delicate middle, down to the motte (vulva). Weird I know, Ill get back to Kicks and the non sentimental things later on tonight I promise. Read up to hear the song.

WildFlower

She faced the hardest times you could imagine


And many times her eyes fought back the tears

And when her youthful world was about to fall in

Each time her slender shoulders

Bore the weight of all her fears

And a sorrow that no one hears

Still rings in midnight silence, in her ears.

Let her cry for she is a lady

Let her dream, for she’s a child

Let the rain fall down upon her

She’s a free and gentle flower growing wild

And if by chance I should hold her,

Let me hold her for a time

But if allowed just one possession

I would pick her from the garden to be mine

Be careful how you touch her, for she’ll awaken

And sleep’s the only freedom that she knows

And when you walk into her eyes, you won’t believe

The way she’s always paying for a debt she never owes

And a silent wind still blows

That only she can hear, and so she goes.