Flew far and wide,
Flitting quick and soft with skill
over bank and under tree
he shot, over and beyond the hill,
in search of his chosen nectar,
of which he would obtain,
from a very special flower,
dear to him as rain.
But which would he choose,
when all was said and done?
Of what kind of flower,
would he select as his special one?
Would he choose a rose,
tall and dark and proud,
but whose outer shell boasted blades of fury
too sharp within its shroud?
Or perhaps ‘twould be a lily,
whose shining gown would shine
a burning light, robed in pomp,
ablaze for all time.
Perchance, could be a daisy,
who always stands for truth,
delicate, sweet, yet oft alone,
She holds fast when hopes are few.
On wings of hope sailed the little bird,
senses tuned to see
a graceful flower who would fight
for true love just as he.
Far and wide flew the hummingbird,
still in search he flew,
hoping that, one day, Lord willing,
he could find his flower too.
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