BY MCDOG, 3RD YEAR, LAS POSITAS COLLEGE

Who is my princess?
Mmmmm, she is but the humble blossom — crowned by poise and not by
title, for everything, it grows from her.
All fruit, foliage, and power! Grows from her and is rounded by the sun.
She herself grows taller to adorn herself, locked in light, but unlike men does
so in silence, and in radiance.
For regardless of knotted root, silver showers, or golden sunshine, it is
difficult to say which for her does the most good.
She can grow in the window or the wild, but try to trim her as you must, dip
her in whatever water — she will only ever bend to one: the wind.
She grows with patience; nothing else.
Not song, nor intention, nor praise or anything else we men can give her. Her
compact world is all she needs.
So best we nurture it —not her—that way when the world is weary, and
societies shall fall, there will always be a garden.
And our love for her might then revoke our death.