Tell me, 

O wildflower, 

What is wrong?

What beguiles thy beautiful self, and

What allures thy covetous heart?

Why do you seek the burden of beauty?

     Is it not enough, the petals you have?

You strain your eyes, but you fail to realize

     That you are scrutinizing for something that 

          is tucked away in the dark,

     That your utopia is but a fruitless fantasy 

          Vanquished by the winds 

               of fortune and fame.

O Wildflower, 

That life, 'tis an endless sob of sorrow and regret 

For as you give up your life, 

     in return, none you get.

Besides, what vitality and strength do you lack?

The world strangles your conflicted conscience

     Sifting you down to the bottom of the pack

But beauty is not found by looking, and by searching,

But by knowing, 

And I know you thrive, despite being stepped upon--

You sing and dance and twirl and laugh

Procuring sunlight in the darkest of alleys. 

I know you are the breath of the ocean, 

     Its daughter of persistent inconsistency,

And after all, you are a flower,

And all flowers bloom.

Tell me, 

O wildflower, 

     What is wrong?

          For what faith, 

               What soul,

                    What spirit, and

                         What power--

Is better found 

Than in a wildflower?