Writings of Life

A flower's will is strong,

Blowing away my own,

Catching the wind it flies,

Daring the world to catch it.

Enemies beware this flower's wrath,

For it is delicate like a bird.

Good is it gone, or bad?

How can we tell?

It is hard to decide,

Judging by how all life is important.

Kangaroos,

Lions,

Mice too.

No one is left behind.

Opportunities are for all.

Please let the flower fly and be free,

Queer as it may seem,

Ready it is,

Striking as it may seem,

Today is the day.

Until now,

Very rare was the idea.

Watching if fly by,

Extraordinary it is,

Yet something is missing,

And only I know what it is.

It stood tall,

Even

In the wet rain.

It smiled,

Waiting for the sun.

That flower,

That happy flower,

Waited patiently,

For something that never came.

Why, oh why,

Was it always so happy?

Why was it's joy in vain?

The sun,

It never came.

It never came,

To greet the one

Waiting for it

And now, because of that,

The poor flower

Has died, still smiling.

Smiling, forever more.