A fragile flower high on windswept slopes
Hangs on for its brief time
Though no one sees.
What purpose you might ask,
Is served by this brief blooming?
What glory is revealed amidst the snow and rock
As far below we rush to fill our time
With treasures, pleasures, pandemonium?
Just to know it lives, existing only as a thought
For most of us in humdrum lives
Just to give its momentary beauty
To a world so needy of its charity
Just to be a selfless being struggling to live
And spend its all-too-short amount of time
Just being, blooming, beautifying the world
Even though no eyes will ever see.