Broken Pot

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.