we see flowers in all whether
taste aside, beautiful to sight

the drifters who keep it fresh
leaving their mark
creating a park
they may return someday

cut from their home
separated from mother
whether they're for or not
into a container they slot

blooming pretty or weedy
dark or bright in any light
soon enough, away they shy
closing up at the end of day

soon their waters spored astray
whethered flowers get tossed away