The Flower Poem by Walter Dapliyan

I see a flower so rare;
Of delicate beauty, I swear.
It hids amidst the tall grass,
Down the hill as I pass.
I feel the urge to take it:
A strong desire to own it.
I wade through the thick grass,
Their blades cut my hands en masse.
But desire blocks the pain;
Persistence has its gain.

I come to the flower at last;
Eager hands reach fast.
It is prettier up close,
Its scent arises to my nose.
I close my eyes awhile,
And savors it with a smile.
As I am about to pluck it
And take it as my own:
Comes a sinking feeling
Of sadness so forlorn.

If I choose to take it,
It will soon die in my hands.
Thus, it is best to leave it;
To show beauty where it stands,
And it will live each day
For as long as it may.
So I turn and walk back
To where I left my track.

And each day, I shall walk
To the hill where it lay.
I will gaze upon it
And admire from far away.
And when the time comes
For it to fade and wither;
I shall sigh and whisper...
To the wind and hither:
'I saw a flower so rare;
Of delicate beauty, I swear.'

......