A flower in the distant desert
Is standing all alone,
Among the grains of shifting sand
Where the lonely winds do roam.
An insignificant splash of colour
Near a piece of sun-parched wood,
This isolated flower grows
Where no other plants have stood.
A tiny seed was borne aloft
Through the air for many miles,
Until it stopped, took root and grew,
Now subject to Nature's wiles.
A sweeter or more pleasant bloom
Was not seen in any time,
Yet there is none to appreciate
This blossom in its prime.
No one except the Wanderer
Who travels many lands.
The pristine dunes she now does trek --
Her footprints across hot sands.
Although she loves this wanderlust
She often feels alone,
Because she cannot find the one
With whom she longs to roam.
Passing near some sun-parched wood,
The flower caught her eye.
It was so lovely, yet so alone,
It moved her thus to cry.
How well she understood its plight --
This fragile thing so ruled
By forces out of its control;
Indeed, life can be cruel.
She stood and gazed at the tiny gem,
Reflecting on her fears,
Then knelt to sniff its fragrant bloom
And watered it with her tears.
It could have given so much joy
Asking little in return,
But alas, it is doomed to waste away --
On the barren sands it shall burn.
sjk