Isn't it weird

How we pick flowers

Because we think

they are pretty

And that is what kills them

And I don't know

Whether to pick mine

Or not

And put it in a vase

For all to see

Or let it grow

Obscure, wildly

For only my eyes

To see

To keep my flowers

A sacred secret

Or to pluck it

From it's roots

And put it behind glass

While it fades and withers

Slowly but surely