ordinary

 a strange flower grew in the same garden as the roses and petunias. it was not pretty like them. so nobody picked it.

 so it grew thick and dark and thorny without a care. this flower. did not colour its petals obscenely to attract the bees. or other flying insects. or walking ones.

 it did not aspire to the vase.

or the lapelle. or the head of hair. it knew that its destiny was not a beautiful, utilitarian death. but an ordinary one.


it was satisfied with its life of plainness and obscurity.