Forgotten field of forever

The sleeping bud, It closed form, Unknown to the world, It's a weak stem, As smooth as fur, The innocence in its beauty is untold. The soft sun of its delicate petals, We behold. The breeze that blows to tame, The rain that washes, And makes a new frame. Time passed, the season changed, To the bud which has now bloomed The sun that shines in its favor, To the rain that dances on its petals, Swaying with the gentle breeze, Bright, proud in their colors, Different from any other, It radiates outrageous. Joy to the wanderers of the field, For the sweet nectar it gives. Give praise to the beauty of these flowers, Behold its greatness, And let its petals guide you on your journey, For the flower is one never seen, And one that will never be seen. A bud no more, a flower before, What is it now? An unrecognizable figure, Its petals now withstand, Tortured by the harshness of the sun, Bent by the wild winds, Tortured for its difference, Sucked dry by the wanderers, Its beauty no more, Nothing left to wonder.