A flower bent to earth under my feet
Gets up again - it won't admit defeat;
Until the winter cold kills fragile leaves,
Its struggle won't be over - it believes
After its stem has decomposed and died,
After the dead of winter has arrived,
It will spring back to life, again, like new;
I happen to uphold its point of view.
I watch the flowers year after year
Come back to life, they know and don't despair,
When it's their time to die, they leave with grace,
Can't say the same about the human race.