I am exquisite and delicate.

I wonder if anyone catches a glimpse of me, silently standing in the vast meadow.

I hear the wind rustling through the leaves above me, taunting me with their view of the world.

I see a panorama of green.

I want to see the rest of the world.

I am exquisite and delicate.



I pretend I am like the birds I see in the sky that soar above.

I feel the warm sun shine brightly upon me.

I touch the soft hand that plucked me, and

I worry what might happen to me now.

I cry the silver droplets that spill down my purple petals as it rains.

I am exquisite and delicate.



I understand the value of who I am.

I say that I am worth appreciating.

I dream that someone will think so, too.

I try not to lament over my past life, as I am placed in a glass vase filled with water.

I hope that he will take good care of me, because

I am exquisite and delicate.