Flowers.

We all have flowers... some that bloom and others die, we tend to them with such a vanity maybe this is why, we cultivate the soil with pretentious hands and according faith, but just because we are religious,  our beliefs aren't always certain to keep them growing safe,
We watched the seeds become a rose
And the light upon them shine, but the seasons change so often,  and therfore comes it's fight divine,  granted that the earth sustains life, it battles hard just not to leave,  and just like death in humans we tend to life as we do breath 
We cling to vanity for our beauty may fade as years go  by, and often times the garden finds it hard, and there the soils dry,  tears may offer hope to some it's how we shed our deepest fears , but to watch the garden suffer offer up our heartfelt tears, life becomes of which we sow and sometimes it may take effect,  to learn new ways to nurture life, we must endure before reflect,  so life for a rose ain't promised as time for us is youth,  and any garden loved in faith, would long to see the truth,  that some are fortunate and others not, whilst the grounds of love are cool, or hot, so any rose may bloom and wither,  before it's called a day, but love it has it's own agenda,  and the faith to make them stay.