Decomposing wild flower,
wild at heart.
Knowing her own scent,
long before the last bell rang from the other shore.
Never look back in remorse.
The day is always new.
The planet floated in cumulus clouds,
while her leaves wobbled content in the breeze
of a mountain whose name is unknown.
Being born – traumatic at first – the sun gently nursed
her feeble body – even rain feed her hungry soul.
However within long it was time again to die again, decompose.
She did not mind, she had had winged lovers leaving her offspring
Waking up that morning
a petal missing,
an orange sigh
went through her
like a bullet, red and warm.
She bend to her knees
nimbly shaking off the last remnants of youth.
She kissed the earth and took a last breath.
Snails came to remove the remains.
Artwork: Henri Matisse