As the Flowers so are We

Born unto the floral
Delicate, fragile, fleeting.
Beautiful for a moment.
The next, wilting.
When shall they fall to fire?
When shall they be cut,
And cease to be?
Thrown to the stock,
To feed the fates that bind them.
Powerless to resist.
As the flowers so are we,
Unable to alter the forces that damn us.
Is that so evil?
All must die.
In our finite life,
May quality increase,
Rather than quantity.