A flower by a creek,
swaying like a metronome.
Its bright and bulbous head
sits atop a skinny stalk
Oh, are you counting time?
Or is time foreign for you?
Your scent rides on the air.
Your petals flame bright yellow.
Your every aspect
is a call for attention,
and yet you bow your head
like a dog caught in the act.
the !n(tro)verted yogi 
re-posted here: https://grumpysgiftspoetry.org/2020/08/14/hangdog-flower-b-gourley-the-ntroverted-yogi/
Thanks for sharing.
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This is like a sunflower. Hangdog is a new name for me.
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It comes from the kind of slumped body posture some dogs get then they are anxious or tentative. Humans think it looks guilty, but I don’t know whether guilt is in a dog’s emotional milieu, as such. (And, if it is, whether they express it like that.)
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Flowers are more “alive” than we give them credit for. Thanks for your poem.
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