Beneath the gaze of a waning sun,
A solitary flower blooms,
In a world where shadows run,
And silence fills the empty rooms.

Its petals, delicate as dawn’s first light,
Unfurl in hues of crimson and gold,
A testament to nature’s might,
In a story yet to be told.

Its fragrance whispers ancient lore,
Of love, of loss, of time’s embrace,
A beacon on a desolate shore,
In a world that’s lost its grace.

Humanity, with trembling hands,
Plucks the bloom, and feels its pain,
Yet seldom understands,
The fragile beauty it must sustain.

Cities rise and empires fall,
Beneath the burden of our greed,
We build our towers tall,
Yet forget the simplest need.

The flower stands, a silent plea,
A cry for harmony and care,
For in its fleeting beauty, we
Might find the strength to share.

To mend the wounds our hands have made,
To heal the earth, our common home,
To seek the light amidst the shade,
And let our hearts no longer roam.

For in the blossom’s tender grace,
Lies a lesson, pure and true,
That in our haste, we must find space,
For nature’s song, and skies of blue.

So let us cherish what we hold,
This fragile gift of life and earth,
And in the flower’s heart of gold,
Discover once again our worth.