For you, my friend,
I will flowers wear,
at least once a week
in my long dark hair.

And when I dance
in my skirt of rose,
you'll remember me
where childhood goes.

I am here
to pierce the heart,
to shatter fear
with a silver dart.

When dream and wish
are hard to find,
look for the flower
left behind....

The flower is found
in you, not me—
a garden inside,
windswept, free.