There's a dry flower,
gloomy, infertile, colourless and very different,
but without any focus on it.
The colibri avoids it, bees don't
fly around it.
When it rains, it's intact,
but in shiny days it's covered
with dew.
It's a defective flower,
a dead plant.
It could be the most beautiful,
but it's rotten, unnoticed,
and its colours represent
the sadness itself.