Its stems grew numb and grey as it gasped for air.
Yet with its agony came the harmony of peace, a silent melody.
Soon to be a corpse washed up against the lively sediments on the shoreline,
it offered the world a final smile.
As the remaining whimpering breaths of torment escaped its roots,
it fantasized about the ending of a longing dreaded life.
A life with no affection. The life of a decaying flower.
Fate gifted it the fruits it grew, sour rotten green apples.
A field with an abundance of ripe sweetness, gaillardias, lupines, and daisies, was not its destiny.
Dreams of a soothing calm whiff of wind running through its leaves were nothing but illusions of desire.
Like an untamed animal seeking survival.
The plant was unworthy of survival.
It needed its bee to tame it.
To care for it. To nurture it. To flourish it. To love it.
Couldn’t she care for it to grow and sprout?
Was her kiss too heavy for the wind to deliver?
The bee’s pursuit of a flower to pollinate has yet to happen.
Its destined flower holds on the threshold of perishment.
Running out of time. Pollinate it before it withers. Save it.