A Sprig of Blossom (Poetry)

Indoors, a sprig of blossom
fallen lately from its tree
no wind here to unpick those sweet
white petals. Worry-free

and alone upon our windowsill
protected by the glass
still close to parent branches
swaying wild as breezes pass.

It opens up another bud
encouraged by the sun
drinks water from its nursing pot
quite blind to life’s short run

it goes on being what it is
a blossom, come what may
as though determined to exist
if just for one more day.