I touched it gently, potted it
It grew into an orchid, a Vanda
It then grew till it blocked my sun light
It was out of love, or so I thought
Yet it was control, and no explanation would state otherwise
I watered ot still, for the other rooms were bright
One day it died, I shed a tear
For the leaves that grew inwards had blight
It wasn't my love that killed it
I cleaned my window of the dead remains
Until the next
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