A fresh grass rising from the ground

Swaying by the winds command

It doesn't know its purpose

Nor can't say when it will be used.

It's just there dreaming for a better day

Hoping not to wilt so soon and become hay.

Sunflower in a dark-cold room,

Searching for the light, it bents on its own.

How many days should I wait for the sun?

Ten? Hundred? Or maybe a thousand?

I'm not as feminine as flower or as strong as a tree,

But I'm already wilted and I cannot be free.

Firefly in the city, thirsty and hungry

Finding a home goes weary.

It flies and flies and travelled very far

Hoping not to be kept in a jar.

It lost its light in the evening

Does it show beauty when it's not shining?

Years I've been hushed, waiting for the next season.

How many stations should I pass before reaching my destination?