A flower
Red pettaled
with a soft yellow face
Rests flat, wilting
on a chipped white windowsill
In the city

Picked by a thin woman
On a warm summer night

she had walked by many times,
And never once noticed
Its becoming hues of red and yellow

But it always noticed her,
Straining its yellow face
Upward To watch
Her graceful gate

And the way her skirt
Delicately danced
Like flower petals in the breeze
As she walked by

But that evening
She noticed

And she adored it
enough to take it home
Perching it purposefully
On that warm windowsill
In the city.

And there it rested,
Horizontal and high

Window open,
Warm breeze coming through,
Gracefully receiving the day,
In its final hours

Enjoying its new perspective,
Finally looking down,
rather than straining upward,
To watch those great human giants,
Busily walking by

And feeling its physiology degrade
it smiled inside
consumed by the wonderful new sensation
Of lying down

Enjoying a final rest,
And a new view
as the world rushed by

Resting, just resting
Assured
That all was good
And all was right.

As life slowly faded away...