Flowers withered on their stems,
No-one tended them with care,
Did anyone even bother
To notice they were there? .
Lowly blooms on the wayside
Were they ever given a name? .
Perhaps they were, but who remembers? ,
Each blossom looked much the same.

They lived their lives in the wild
With little shelter from the cold,
Existing through their lifetime
Without a thought of growing old.
Could be, they were nature`s down and outs
Alive, yet left to die.

Rather like some humans,
For them, how many question WHY? .