For whom and for what has this flower bloomed
No curiosity have I grown, nor have I any mood
To know at all, which fragrance it spreads around,
What colours, pink or purple and where does it wear
No interest I have at this moment to know that either
Which butterflies sit on where and what part they kiss
Flying over and hovering around buzzing which bees
Should I concern? I think I should not as this would
Tantamount to count the fruits rather than the trees
What charms are casted and for what I am bound
What astonishment and spell it holds that I wonder
Not it is in its mesmerising beauty that lies in butter
smooth skins of spreading petals but in its power
To sustain in a dry crack after managing a wide split
In a stone and makes all the adversities to surrender
In awe I stop by only to see its glory and splendour.
The Glory Of A Little Flower
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