Moment by Moment
Every moment is the path of truth, and we walk by.
I do not remember the touch of sowing hands. Taken care of by the attentive gardener, my sprout shot little by little. Muddled, innocent, ignorant, nourished by education I was. The observation had been proceeded silently; I was waiting, waiting to blossom fiercely; thought the gather of nutrient was plenty enough. Showing my bright colors to the world to win everyone’s eye, I blossomed. Yet, how soon I noticed my insignificance; how soon I closed my tawdry petals. Quietly my fruits were born. Quietly I prayed for the taste of fruity sweetness, which may be shared to the one I love. Yet, I believe I will end up withering with nothing. I believe we all will do.