Without me perceiving
or scrawling a line or two
about it
It will still continue to exist.
Perhaps better that way,
by itself,
not forced to conform
to the shape and rhyming
of my verses
or worse, my whims.
It keeps swooning
in abandon peerless
Unmindful of me watching
although I imagine it blushing
The flower couldn't care less
about being a flower.
Petals, fragrance, colours vivid
all blossoming in place
Complete without trying.
Elegance effortless.
Whilst I strive and sweat
to be a poet
When I could be best
without trying or haste.
There is no substitute.
Not many can fill her shoes.
Abandon takes her strolls
unchartered,
unannounced,
barefeet.
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