In springtime, lushes of green are seen abode in the terrain of supple earth where millions of flowers unfold their beauty in their most natural definition. She is a flower. Her petals will dry for a passing season and blooms again for the next one if its roots are strong enough to hold on to earth or when life itself will permit so. While its beauty is wrapped in modish paper and displayed in crystal vases – it slowly dies.
The stem rooted on earth’s humble ground is the tenure of every flower’s strength to withstand four seasons that in tragedy and joy it is there. To remain so, to fancy tearful eyes just like when we look at the sky and perhaps lighten the load of a weary heart without its asking. It is there to fill up an empty space even with just its petals scattered on the ground, it brightens a little corner and inspire a lonely trail to wherever one maybe. Just because – flowers are ought to, what else a flower could do?
In time, divided by seasons, of spring, summer, winter and finally fall – of rain and harsh sun; flowers will remain the simplest joy in this universe.
Don’t you think so?
She is a flower. Can’t you see?
Keep her in a garden where she can lavish freedom and affection without departing from earths humble ground where sunlight kisses her; where rain is modest to her meek being – in a place where heaven is not gray.