He was
enjoying the touch, the feel, the presence,
Feeling
the gentleness, the scent, the glow,
Gazing at
the vivacious colours of it,
His hands
were holding the ultimate beauty.
What
should he do with it?
Should he
hold it in his hands forever?
It bloomed
on every sunrise just for him,
But he
drew the very joy from each petal,
And left
them on his way finding life.
On leaving
the last petal behind,
He
realized he got nothing left in his hands.
And then
he bent back to know what his life was,
He saw the
trails of withered petals all his way life.
All his
life, he was loving the flower,
Unknowingly
that he was hurting it.
Image courtesy - Google Images