Day 79: Peek-a-Boo

I have no idea what this flower is called, but it looks like it's hiding it's face with little petal hands.

Here's a little poem about the flower.  It came out sounding more morbid than I meant it to.

Hiding Flowers
I look between splayed fingers
Hiding in the dark
Afraid of what might be out there
Visible and stark

Wide open in the summer air
Loud and tremulous
Knocking over limbs and sprigs
Too big to notice us

Too wide care at all about
Our fragile little parts
Not noticing how harsh it grabs
How fast it breaks our hearts

So covering my little eye
I wait with baited breath
For the moment when it comes for me
The author of my death