A powerful wind blows
Throughout the fields.
Flowers shiver down bellow
As if their roots are fins.

In the sea
Of the flowery field,
I bend and pick me
A little flower seed.

It will reach its peak in a vase, I know,
For I will save it this day once more,
Though in the end nothing will be left to show.
Brighter than before, it stands proudly to mourn.