Adagio

The sun rises.
The flower lifts its face towards the light and
In desperation reaches.
The flower grows,
And extends towards the heavens.
I can hear it stretching,
The gentle creaking,
The roots grasping for droplets.

Midday,
And the plant is distended to its fullest.
Later on, it begins to shrivel and shrink.
It seems to have given up
Its quest for the sun.
Quietly, angrily, the face looks down,
And droops like a dishcloth,
Wrung and hung in the sun.

Soon, it will be night.
The weed, looking miserable and ragged
Begins to drop its petals.
The face sinks to the ground,
Its skinny body coiled to meet the roots.
The petals fall like droplets
Of tears or of blood,
The death goes unnoticed,
All alone in the dark.