Reyna is a flower,
She is delicate and lives wrapped in her own sentiment.
Her brief conversations with the air and ground are simply enough to keep her alive,
She survives on the whispers and conversations that she shares with her surroundings.
Reyna is quiet and conservative,
Always remembering to follow the rhythm of the world.
The wind reminds her when to breathe,
And the rain reminds her when to cry.
If it weren’t for her surroundings,
Reyna would be dead and dry.
As a flower, she lives seemingly pleasantly,
And watches the earth grow.
Her life works as a cognitive instrument,
In the orchestra at the flower patch.
She has the time to daydream,
And time to paint the field of her own desire.
She keeps her wishes to herself,
And her imagination on a taut leash.
Is it so cruel that the surroundings that offer her life also suffocate her optimism for a changed world?
Reyna’s petals are delicate and always sensitive,
Elastically waiting for the right breeze to uproot her.
Sometimes, she just wants to be taken away,
The elusive feeling of discovery tickles her.
Her fantasies take her far past the sensations of the field,
And her mind wanders through forests and sceneries of faraway places.
To her the world is a cinema,
With no chosen protagonist.
The world demands her exploration,
But instinctively, her little fingers always cling on to the comfort of the soil.
The other flowers never show such genuine interest,
So why should she?
She complements the warmth of the colours around her,
And refuses to stick out.
Flawless in feature her beauty is in the simplicity of her form,
Still she wonders how life can be so simple and elegant.
The rain starts to pour and she remembers to cry,
She is a flower and eventually she will wilt.