When I think of you,
I see fields of sunflowers
leaning towards the sun
never a worry of blinding rays,
of burning till blisters bring misery.
They flow freely in the wind
tall, proud, oblivious of the their beauty,
called weeds, wild,often useless,
cruel words carry no weight in their world.
In my rainiest of days,
where are the sunflowers?
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