I am the flower that blooms only somtimes.

When I am sad, the sun knows.

So many blades of grass I droop down upon, withering, dying.

Blocking out the sun, killing them, spreading my unhappy death like a pathogen indifferent to those who care.

My few leaves, ever green, do not understand what the matter is.

They cannot grasp why a beautiful bloom such as mine is concealed and shown only sometimes.

They are not aware that, like the grass,like myself, they too will cease to breathe.

No more pollen in my core,

No more nectar for hummingbirds to explore,

No more color in my petals,

No more thoughts in my head,

Just like those that follow,

I am gone,

I am dead.