Flouting in the air,
Here is the small flora,
Dancing with the wind,
In the grasses adora.

Tiny petels pinkishly,
Tied with a bud in cones,
Here comes a cold breeze,
And sudden closure it shows.

With the shades of white,
Its capturing my sight,
In the presence of light,
Its feeling shy looking at the kite.

With little eyes,
It’s sencing its head high,
Rooted in the mud,
She knows a moment she will die.

Leaving the fear behind,
Hoping to live today,
She sings the songs of smiles,
Standing there she is crossing miles.


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