Someone told me
Wild flowers should be left alone.

Heigh! Lest should anyone believe it
Neither would I surrender.
When my evidence is the talk of flowers.
They’ve long to see the world
To be taken away, to be owned.
Contented they would be,
Lest they’re destined to wither away,
As long as they bring joy
As decoration on a girl’s hair,
Portrait of art in a vase,
All are proof of love.

Wild flowers,
Tell them,
You would rather die in a day
On someone else’s hand
Than to stick on your stem the whole season.