A flower,
Not appreciated for the uniqueness...
Of its natural beauty,
Is no different than the oversight given...
To an imitation that represents,
That which it isn't.
Until an attention is bestowed upon it.
And only then,
When that attention becomes focused...
Does the scent of it provide enjoyment.
And all that is surrounding it,
Connects with an attachment...
As if noticed for the first time.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem