blooming flower

In a field of misery, there blooms one beautiful flower.
But I am afraid to pick it, Afraid that I will take away its power.
Only to hold that flower close to me.
Because I want to see it better, I disturb its existence so suddenly.
Picked up to hold it forever? I know that is a lie.
Without the power to grow my beautiful flower will die.
Turn black and lose her leafs.
Then I am the only one who grieves.
A tear falls upon the dying flower.
Why did I have to pick it? Why did I take away its growth and power? Sometimes it’s better just to watch from a distance to see how it grows.
Watch it a little every day, a small peek and you’re the only one who knows. Look at it, think about it and restrain yourself from picking the thing.
A hard task that requires a lot of understanding.
Understanding of the fact that a long life with a picked flower is a lie.
Your beautiful picked flower will die.
Observe and love the view.
After a while you can turn your head to something new.
In the field of misery, you are that blooming flower to me.