Wildflower stands where it stands, earning its point of view whence destiny decided it was best suited to brighten a periphery for a turn and a smile. If it feels introverted, it may remain a sunny stain; if it feels extroverted, it may unleash its seeds as rain. Wildflower may never know the denouement of its kin, aside from dispersing hope, fate, and joy–a definite win. If a cohort does grow close by, in proximity to espy, for a bee alit: “hi-not-bye”, petals will smile high and nigh. Wildflower is beauty because it is that, neither this one or that one, but both kit and cat. There is no androcracy here for each being is complete and equal of itself–the whole shebang. Some are greater than others? Wildflower says, “Meh!” Asexual clones are the purveyors of love and peace, eh? Wildflower nods, “Yea!” Missing pieces and all, equality of kindness is worth a try–heh. ; )