A fallen flower

I stop by to pick a flower

from the rolling meadow,

to hold it in my hand,

and feel its warmth,

its softness,

my clumsy fingers

bruising its gentle skin,

its hue damaged

by my human hand,

its life force gone

plucked from its grassy home

“You should have let me be”

but its words fall on deaf ears,

time and time again.

 

3 thoughts on “A fallen flower

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