Petals so frail.
Yet so sprightly.
In hues that can´t be defined.
It has no name. Nor a family.
It grows in the trails.
Quietly.
It awaits no approval.
Or appreciation.
No pride it feels.
Or expectation of recognition.
In the rain it bathes.
The air it breathes,
defines an existence of simplicity.
No expectations it holds.
It knows its fate.
After all, few days is all that it will manage.
