Irony strikes hard as it dawns,

as soon enough you'll see.

For fate has sent me great joy,

on the wings of misery.

Once there was a flower,

touched by fate, left to grow.

But thirteen words of darkness,

buried life under icy snow.

But time is a healer,

and that grey winter died.

Seeing a root left with life,

I tended it inside.

From that root sprang sunshine,

a smile from it did lend.

For even without that flower,

I'd gained a perfect friend.


The key to controlling pain is not to ignore it,

but to accept its presance.

Only then can one be free...