A field of flower is precious
So precious though it is fragile.
Fragile like the human soul,
It doesn’t take much to make a flower wilt
Even in a garden.


Other flowers lavishly grown around
And yet one or two— despite
Everything wilt as the others soak up the plentiful Water.


With the failure to tend to thy, once precious flowers now are wilted, slowly crumbling though still unnoticed till to late. Crumpled on the ground in sorrow and despair, beauty rose and now fell, only now had been noticed and nothing could tend to those wilted petals