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Flower in the Wild

While walking along a woodland trail,
Off to the side I see a beautiful flower.
I stop and admire it.
I linger a bit,
Admiring its shape and color;
The way it moves in the breeze.
Then I continue on my way.
On my return
The flower has gone.
Someone has plucked it.
In trying to own it
Someone has taken it away
From the rest of us
And killed it.
I think of you
How you are like a beautiful flower.
Every time I see you
I silently admire
Your shape, your skin tone;
Your eyes, your face, your hair;
The way that you move;
The sound of your voice.
Why don't I speak?
Because I don't want to be
Like a crass plucker
Of a beautiful flower.
I believe my sense of you
Is different from your sense
Of yourself.
I know if I spoke
You would not wither and die,
But I fear you would feel uncomfortable.
I might be trying to own too much.
I will hold my tongue
Until I can strike a balance:
To communicate admiration
Without creating discomfort.

14 April 2002

by Bill Cattey