serene and calm
on the green grass they whisper

When will he come to water me?
Will I be forgotten and withered?
Or will it keep me forever in some book?
Will I be eternal like his writings?
Will you protect me with love, the day I need it?
Why should I be a flower, and he the one who steps on the grass?

There are too many questions for the existence of a simple, 
although beautiful flower.