Flowers dancing in the breeze,
Children sniffing, down on their knees.
But the flower doesn\'t bite,
For it is too gentle, too alight.
In the morn, when the dew is set,
A drop rolls of the pretty rosette.
Petals outreached, the flower shows off its beauty.
Before closing up, tightly and ambitiously.
Waiting for winter to rest,
Waiting for springs request.
Then it will open again,
More beautiful than a wren.