Are you the cure for all my desperate thirst?

The sprinkle from which I have been refrained;

My petals bloom and hope you are coerced,

But dry and curling do my leaves remain.

From water I am always unfamiliar,

But blood, its gory cousin, knows my name;

My father's killer staring from his mirror,

His dying breath a noose has come to claim.

So broken in your meadow I am swaying,

Not foreign to the sharpness of my thorns;

For the savior of your smile I am praying,

For the briefness of my own grin do I mourn.

But I'm inclined to realize your indiff'rence,

And bring myself to humble, low deliv'rance.