Isaac, Honorbeary, Tally, Ferdy, Blanky

A flower opened up to a passerby

And lay bare the prose written on its leaves

Every tactile line a strain of thought

Nurtured by the sun and soil and dew

The passerby came and cast an eye

On the grass, on the foliage of the tree

Passing quickly through the forest, humid and hot,

Passing by the beauty tried and true

If time had wings, must it necessarily fly?

Why not stop and enjoy the flower like a bee?

The petals grow tired, and shall wither and rot

The next time opens the eye of the moon

The flower opened up to a passerby

and watched the visitor who could not see

and bent its head in disappointed nod:

'Tis life, 'Tis death, 'Tis existential doom.