Woman, you are not a flower.

You are not a flower,
vulnerable to a pull,
an ephemeral pleasure to the eyes,
fooled by the illusion of time,
controlled by the seasons,
only to die.

You are the wind that is infinite
and completely out of reach;
no one can encapsule your freedom or your dreams.
Nature is enamoured by your curiosity,
the way you brush the tides
and dance with the trees.
Woman, you are more than what you seem.