I Am A Flower

Mighty magic the flowers do have! Did you not sit out on the porch that day and blather about it?

You clearly articulated that you were experiencing a likeness to the flower, in a crystal vase, adorning the altar. You stated in strapping sentences how it puts forth its colours, its beauty, and its brightness; how it captivates attention, and how, it is eventually plucked from the lot, only to be submitted to its termination.

Why did you speak of its magic then? Were you making reference only to its beauty?

You went on about the flowers. But you now wondered if you related to the flower that casts off its pretty petals to reconstruct into favourable fruit. You insisted that the flower has to give way; to something better, something more beneficial, something more purposeful. You squealed about the magic being that exact transformation.

The fruit bears furtherance, but the promise of the fruit comes first from the flower.

I am a flower and I am magical.