We all don’t understand,
Our opinions aren’t in demand,
Our souls are like flowers,
They can topple over like towers,
They bloom, then fade away,
They go to heavan or hell to stay,
Flowers have no powers,
Except to smell sweet,
And to be put in the barrels used to defeat,
Time flies by,
Never to return,
Our souls are like flowers,
Does yours smell sweet by any other name?