My leaves are blue,
My petals are green,
My stem is red,
And do you know that my flowers are unseen,
Do you know how young I am?
The same is myself,
The leaves are my wishes.
My flowers are my genes,
The air passes around and it whispers “you are fair”.
I don’t like to be fair.
I like to blow that air, which doesn’t say I am beautiful,
You will see me very soon, very soon, very soon.