I asked the flowers “Why do you live when you know you will die?”
Eager and willing they invited me with soft fragrance.
“We don’t pretend to live in the present.”
“We don’t deny our fates.”
I waited patiently as the question had not yet been answered.
Their petals spread in enjoyment because my ponderings gave them happiness. The irony in that thought.
“We live for the weeping parent who outlived their own.”
“We live for the tiny noses pressed into us.”
“We live for those who feel they can’t for another day.”
I asked the flowers “How do you keeping giving?”
Their humble voices in unison echo
“We were born to give and so are you.”