The flower grows quickly, unseen; alien within the dull grey of the sprawling metropolis.
Rising up to distant sky, tunnel vision following the skyscraper path to the glow of the sun.
Delicate petals unfurl in the sunshine, when it finally breaks a path through the smog.
Then – the flower crumbles, its purple bud bursts into dust; the green is now corpse grey, decay.
Beyond the confines of perfection, the advancing onslaught of cynicism rots the flesh.
© 1990 & 2006 Andrew M Boylan