And once again,
The white flower I was holding
Withered away.

Far away
In the fresh grassland,
I saw a bud swaying.

Was it real
Or just me that
To me it was waving?

So assuming that
I waved back to it,
But pulled back quickly my hand.

My fear returned,
"In the 'guise of a little bud
Could it be the butterwort plant!"

Oh what's this!
The tiny bud's petals
Were spreading so-slowly.

Its magic blooming,
Hues of white so pure,
The touch must be holy!

There it happened,
I took a step forward,
Enchanted by it's glistening.

Oh so scared!
But I stayed...