Trust is not something easily found
Like a drumstick or a clown
It is something that grows
Like an orchid on the ground
Long lasting and beautiful it can be
You and me grew the orchid from infancy
We nutured and sheltered it
The world did not respond so nicely
The whispers of the jealous blew too rough
The over exposure of hatred wilted our leaves
And finally rudeness of earth killed
us
the orchid
and the trust.
Now we are just a broken pot sitting in the dust.
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