to be...

Oh to be a flower
And not know when petals wither
Falling to the ground
When plucked by Cupid’s count.

Or water flowing
Never caring for direction,
simply taking shape
To evaporate and transform into a warm breeze.

Or the brush of an artist
To bend and crinkle
Dips and dancing on the canvas
Leaving marks to smear and smudge.
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Or a sound that fills the air
And does not care
Where echos bounce and jingle
Until on ear it lands and turns to melody.