No-one sees it.
No-one smells its scent.
No bee collects its yellow pollen.
It closes again against the sun's rays.
It wilts.
It dies.
It never opens again.
And its grey remains are swept up by the evening wind, and scattered.
The flower is forever gone.
Beyond recall.
Except by me. I remember the flower that nobody saw, that fulfilled no purpose.
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