Lovely flower, how thee shines so brightly,
But what hath you be, when the sun must fall?
The sun must cease shining e'er so slightly,
Then the sunset be your beauty's last call
What happens when your morning dew has dried?
Sprinkled reflection of morning passes
What when the sunlight's golden hue has died,
And you're all alone in dying grasses?
What will you be, when your stem has turned brown?
And there's no set of eyes to admire?
What when your lovely blue petals fall down,
And there's nothing left of you to desire?
Your beauty shall forever be the past,
And this death of your color be the last~