Unlike a rose, the wildflower's birth is not celebrated. Neither is its withering mourned. Its not expected to look 'Oh, so beautiful!' and not expected to smell 'Oh, so nice!' Its not sought after to grace living rooms and banquet tables. Yet, it blooms under the sun, fed by earth and rain. It lives for itself and dies unnoticed in namelessness of the wilderness. To be a wildflower or even the blade of grass by the riverside!
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