The flower that grows in shelter,
Shall never be as beautiful,
As the one that grows in the wild.

Primping and pampering are no substitute,
For hardship and hindrance trace irreverence.
The meddle of ones beauty,
Comes at the cost of one's soul.
These are things that a true beholder sees,

The wild look of pure beauty is true,
Not the coziness of the one unhindered.