c'est la vie

the gardener puts manure in the soil, and keeps it wet. he washes the dirt off the leaves, and stays beside the plant while he tills the land. the plant likes him, his company. Oh, but what could the plant do? if only it could give the gardener his glass of water, if only it could talk to him and take his troubles away. all it bears is a flower, which the wind takes away. was it futile and pointless? or was it beautiful, a source of joy and hope? It was but life, and i'd like to think life is beautiful.