She The Gladiola

I live in a garden
in the forever green
of an eternal springtime.

I am a daisy
plain and white
colorless, bland.

She, the gladiola,
sits in the corner,
yet captures the most attention.

She screams reds
and violets and azures
a different shade from any other.

I envy her color,
her ability to
command that
visitors yearn to touch her,
caress her petals and
awe over her height.
I awe over her.

With the color
and the magnificence she creates
they want to take her
and yank her
and stuff her into a vase
on a kitchen table.

Pretty for my plainness,
people smile towards me,
pet my petals, patronizing.
But they want her, crave her,
demand her.
I'm the only one who
loves her.