Touch Me

I am a wild flower.

Untamed.

The stallion of the field indeed, in my delicate form.

No other flower surpasses my colours.

I can rise higher than them.

Yet.

All I want is to be touched.

The colours, vivid as they are, drive others from my open arms. The bee's circle warily around my slender form and choose another flower for their purpose.

I shine.

I shine in both misery and delight.

I die.

I die in both despair and happiness.

I am reborn.

For my seed has flown to create my child.

My child rises brightly from her earthen place and spread's her wings, her petals, with love.

Love.

For the sun? For the bees? For me?

No.

For the child has yet to discover her qualities will drive others away in her excessive beauty.

Whilst we shine in our beauty, the others move on by.

She turns to me and she asks me her question.

The same question I asked my mother.

and, her mother before her.

"Why am I never touched?"

"Because you are too beautiful"

The hardest lesson she will ever learn. My child. My creation.

She is a wild flower. Untamed, wild and free.

Whilst my petals wither, her's grow ever brighter and the sadness is reflected in the dew upon her leaves.

I droop.

My colours spent, my beauty withered.

I try to envisage her life, but she will never understand.

What I never truly understood.

Why I was never touched.

GA Price