Poem: I Picked A Flower

I picked a flower from a bush
Put it in a vase next to my bed
But how was I to know
That the flower cried for its bush
That the bush cried for its flower
But how was I to know
That the flower would die in an hour

The flower withered away
And I put it inside my book
Because I loved the flower so
But how was I to know

That the flower gasped for breath
That it was facing death
But how was I to know
That the flower so badly wanted to go

And I kept the flower close to me
So that every day I could see
But how was I know
That the flower that I had loved so
Had always hated me
That there was pain I couln't see

And how was I to know?
That the flower cried for its bush
That the bush cried for its flower
But how was I to know
That the flower would die in an hour
The flower withered away
And I put it inside my book
Because I loved the flower so
But how was I to know

That the flower gasped for breath
That it was facing death
But how was I to know
That the flower so badly wanted to go

And I kept the flower close to me
So that every day I could see
But how was I know
That the flower that I had loved so
Had always hated me
That there was pain I couln't see

And how was I to know?
The flower withered away
And I put it inside my book
Because I loved the flower so
But how was I to know

That the flower gasped for breath
That it was facing death
But how was I to know
That the flower so badly wanted to go

And I kept the flower close to me
So that every day I could see
But how was I know
That the flower that I had loved so

Had always hated me
That there was pain I couln't see
And how was I to know?
That the flower gasped for breath
That it was facing death

But how was I to know
That the flower so badly wanted to go
And I kept the flower close to me
So that every day I could see

But how was I know
That the flower that I had loved so
Had always hated me
That there was pain I couln't see

And how was I to know?
And I kept the flower close to me
So that every day I could see
But how was I know

That the flower that I had loved so
Had always hated me
That there was pain I couln't see
And how was I to know? 

With special thanks to:
Shobhita Singh, the author of this poem