If there were a billion fields and a billion blades of grass in each field,
If, amongst those grasses, there were tiny wild flowers
Hiding,
Hardly visible, distant from any eyes.
If I was one of a billion,
Barely recognizable as an individual.
If I was parched, thirsty and existing on less then a moment,
I rest in faith, knowing that I would certainly find you, my one wild flower,
Waiting; ever patient, holding your nectar only for me.
S.
