Literary: The Little Floret
A dainty, little flower stands in the middle of the field.
A tad bit quiet yet she glows from afar.
With the wind, she sways and she bends and she shakes.
Day by day, she lives in oblivion,
For unbeknownst to the little blossom, several spectate her beauty from afar,
As with the wind, she sways and she bends and she shakes.
Although she is beautiful and beloved by many,
she is but an ephemeral plant, and gets worn out
as with the wind, she sways and she bends and she shakes,
One sunny day, like any other
All of her beauty and her grace finally wither away,
As for the last time, she sways and she bends and she shakes.
Her once precious petals, her leaves and her stem,
Slowly decay on the ground she used to stand upon,
And serve as remnants and echoes of her former beauty.
With the passing of time, the memory of her slowly starts to fade
From the hearts and the minds of her former admirers,
Reduced to but a distant dream, a fervent longing they once had.
But one sunny day, unlike any other,
In the patch of land where she used to be,
A wonderful sight had materialized into being.
A tiny bud, one that in color, in beauty, and in elegance,
Is strongly reminiscent of the beloved, dainty flower,
Can now be seen in the middle of the field.
And as we all know, the little floret, as youthful as can be,
Will then be loved and adored as the flower before her,
As with the wind, she’ll sway and she’ll bend and she’ll shake.
