Then came the king's son, wounded, sore bestead, And weaponless, and saw the broken sword, Hilt-buried in the dry and trodden sand, And ran and snatched it, and with battle shout Lifted afresh he hewed his enemy down, And saved a great cause that heroic day. — Edward Rowland Sill
Dirt. My grandmother once said That every flower has to go through dirt, And that in times of suffering to never give up Because eventually I would become A strong and beautiful flower, Standing on my own. -I've started to think That these struggles might never turn me into a beautiful flower. All my life I've only seen good things happen, To other people. Maybe I'm not supposed to be a flower, Maybe I'm not even a seed. Maybe I'm just, Dirt. -Josephin August
i am so sorry that everytime i open my mouth it is not roses that come pouring out but blood; and you think i would learn to keep my lips shut to avoid the embarrassment, but the only thing i have realized is that no one will love you when you have bloodstains on your clothes l.s.