Only the fool utters the word friendship with confidence.
I personally pronounce it with the utmost hesitance.

Some claim to have experienced it many times, says the herald.
It is not as common as sand, and not as rare as emerald.

But even rare things can be found somewhere in existence,
And I have yet to find it or its single thread of evidence.

Then it must be obscure to me in its purest form, just like a ghost,
Whose figure is only imagined and has not been seen by any host.

If I were to describe it, I would say it is more like a flower seed
That is planted in the soil and provided with sufficient feed.

With time, it emerges from the ground as a delicate flower,
So beautiful and graceful in stature, and a delight to the viewer.

However, the grower must protect it from the hostile environment
And nurture it so that it can grow and provide ample enjoyment.

Otherwise, a number of conditions may take place
And threaten to wipe its existence without a trace:

The wind may gust a bit and scatter some of its delicate blossom,
Or it may even be strong enough to break its stem from the bottom.

The sky may not rain for a while, and the soil may lose its moisture;
Compounded by the heat of the sun, the flower faces imminent torture.

One day, the children may go out to play in the garden
And trample over it, leaving it to die without a burden.

The worms may climb along its stem until they can climb no more.
They may eat away its petals, so the beauty becomes an eyesore.

The dandelions may grow next to our fragile flower's bed,
And suck from the ground all the food until the flower is dead.

The fall sets in, with little warmth during the day, and cold at night,
So the flower shivers first and then gives up without a fight,

Only to try again in the spring, as long as the roots are intact,
And having the proper growing conditions as a necessary fact.

We are all the growers of this pure and delicate concoction,
Although few of us protect it to avoid its total destruction.