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Hard bud felt so and slightly slippery,
As I lovingly palmed it along,
 firm tether it had to the stem not letting it budge,
The day and after and  days later,
It felt softer with innards growing outwards,
Voila one fine day,
It had ruptured right at tip,
And getting ajar it began pretty faster,
Petals began coming out of close embrace,
Yearning to fall aside free,
I became scared that a touch now,
Would break the open bud,
And stop the flower,
But nature ran its course,
Sunlight fell sharp enough and wind blew right,
Moisture was just right and led it to bloom,
The corolla was a delight and a riot of colors,
It swayed in youth as all passers by admired,
Some stooped to smell the youthful fragrance and other sniffed from afar,
The bloomed flower was serving its purpose quite all right,
Fortunately there was not to get it to its instant death,
By plucking it for uses many by far,
Days wafted by and suddenly supplies became lesser,
Xylem and phloem  were concentrating on another bud,
The flower drooped and drooped further,
Sunlight now desiccated the stored wetness in petals,
The riot of colors looked like a site of riot,
The colors paled and darkened fatally,
The tether to the stem shriveled and turned tenuous,
One fine day a blow of wind shook the stem hard,
And broke the “flower” and flew it to earth,
Only to be buried amongst other parched vegetation,
Human lives parallel the flower’s,
Therefore,watch the wind that would blow you afar,
And pretty much make a  “flower” out of you..

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