Philosophy of the Malcontented Flower

There once was a flower,
Born on summer morning,
Opening its eyes to wet dew
That fell upon parched dry ground.

"Now," the flower said,
"This is no good at all
"I should not like to remain here, in this place until the morning."

As the sun rose higher in the sky,
The flower took inventory of its situation:
Roots in clay,
Vine drawing moisture from rock,
Sun warming its broad face,
Insects tickling its pistil and stamen.

And within:

Desire to transform
Into fruit
Eaten by animal
And shat into greener pasture

Again.