fragile petunia,
does it hurt when they step on you?
gentle iridescence crushed underfoot
the silent tragedy of everyday

lovely petunia,
do you dance to the wind's caress?
or must your petals break and scatter
diffuse notes of elegy

humble petunia,
but you're not humble, are you?
was it worth it, in the end
to stake your life on fleeting color?

The fern waits all day beside the river.
A mossy green with the feel of dry leather, a supple spine without the flourishes...

And it will never know love.
And it will never know adoration.
And it waits and waits and bids the wind goodnight every morning.
And it bends beyond itself without a whisper of complaint.
And it rambles with the river in the same benign discourse.
And it sits in peace as distant petals shatter on the breeze.
And it envies nothing, sightless from the quiet shade of ignorance.
And it will never know its own suffering;
It will never know the elation of touch.

Who shall pluck these diffident flowers?
Beauty always comes with a price