 |
| The Wildflower
He felt he had lost touch with life, Feeling tired and opressed, He felt he was dragging behind Trying to keep pace with the rest. His work became a burden to him He was no more than a slave, His work was just daily routine Something he could not escape. That day he found himself outside Gasping for a breath of wind That day he saw the patch of sky Encircled with the busy streets. He said that he would not go on Achieving other people's dreams He said his spirit was not gone, They wouldn't have him bend his knees. He ran fast without looking back Passing by the well-known streets He ran though he was out of breath Till he reached this magic field. It was so merry and cheerful Filled with the murmur of brooks. It was so lovely and peaceful Strewed with the wildflowers in bloom. His attention was drawn by a flower That differed from all the rest. His attention was drawn by its power Hidden behind its bended head. Though it grew under a big plant, It looked fresh and full of life, Though it was always in the dark, It had its own inner light. He felt like saving the poor thing That had never seen the sun, He felt he wouldn't be able to leave Without helping that little plant. He covered its petals with his hands Protecting it from the wind, He warmed it up with his breath And the flower grew fond of him. He felt so peaceful in that place But now when he was all right He felt he'd have to go away Leaving the wildflower behind. That night when he approached his plant Its little petals trembled in the wind, That night it turned to him with trust When he bent down and plucked it... |
 |