• We are grown, rare and beautiful
    Among the pale and lacking.
    We are cultivated, nursed and loved,
    Encouraged to stand tall;
    But whichever way the wind will blow,
    It takes us on its whim
    And breaks our tiny, fragile stems
    As we lay sprawling on the ground below.

    I’d rather be a tree than a flower,
    Unable to be snapped by wind
    And ever able to touch the sky;
    To find the light therein.

    We are grown, bright and shining
    Among the dull and darkness.
    Our hearts are ever refracting
    The light that makes us glitter;
    But whichever way the hammer falls,
    It takes us on its whim
    And breaks our solid outer shells
    To find the beauty lodged within those walls.

    I’d rather be a pebble than a gem,
    Dull and undisturbed by man
    And ever able to roll away
    To far-off, distant lands.

    I was grown, small but daring
    Among the sea of sameness.
    My eyes were ever searching
    For the dream of living loved;
    But whichever way the spirit flew,
    It took me on its whim
    And it broke my heart a thousand times
    Before I found that I was born anew.

    I’d rather be alone than like others,
    Have passion in my dancing tread,
    And ever able to find myself
    When all my dreams have fled.