Creativity exists within constraints or it perishes. At the moment of their growing, at the moment of their giving shade, at the moment of their falling. Once upon a lively hour. There grew a sprightly flower. But before I can rightly say sprightly. The flower struggled daily and nightly. Trapped under the ground in a seed. It wanted only to be freed. So it pushed and sought for the top. To live with the other crop. But to no avail the flower did remain. To struggle until the next rain.