If the elements be so kind and generous,
It may survive and thrive in the mud.
It owes its family its flesh,
And to others it surrenders its beauty.
Its fragrance is but a respite on a gloomy day,
And its nectar is but food to the ones who depend on it.
Its home is edible for its predators,
And its purpose is to spread its pollen by gifting away its mere essence.
It gives and gives in the hope of receiving,
Yet it wallows in its loneliness for it has no one to call its own.
A foe it has never hurt may pierce its soul one day,
Or an enemy it has never met may pluck it and render it lifeless.
It has never hurt a fly for it is an embodiment of love,
Beautiful and strong yet tarnished its soul, it stands still as if waiting;
Waiting for the day it will wither and fade into oblivion.
I wonder if I am but a flower...