A flower planted in shallow soil atop a rock is still a flower. It won’t live forever, but yet it still existed, drank the water, felt the kiss of the sun and swayed in the breeze, alive. In the flowers ripe season, it proudly showed its colors true, Brought smiles to the passers by who wanted to pluck it, yet left it still. Like a gentle vapor it spread it’s mist, bowed its head and gracefully passed away.The seeds it left in it’s wake were cast abroad, carried on the wind to fertile ground, giving birth to greater healthier flowers; nothing lost, only more of itself to share. Love is that way. Love never fails. No matter how fragile it’s beginning; how frail the process of it’s growth, when sown it’s sure to reap a harvest. Perhaps a single flower on a rock is not an immense garden, but it still has beauty, and life to live on and inspire love again, over and over again like a fresh bouquet of flowers.