What's the purpose of a flower?
To grow old is a crime.
To be in their prime is a punishment.

The more beautiful it is,
The more people would be attached to it,
More people would pluck it.

Being pretty is a crime?
Being pleasant is a punishment?

Begging god for a minute to live.
Some would give them to their lovers,
Others would give them to their dead loved one.

But—
Oh.
Weren't they supposed to stay?
In this eerie circle?
To make this liveable.