What singular flower is this, 
Sheltered behind a bush by the trail, 
Neon orange somehow nearly missed, 
Its one square petal caught in a mild gale, 
Its thin gray stem bending in the breeze?  

Planted by a wayward scientist, 
It never grows or propagates, 
But merely marks a point on a list, 
Staying put until its color fades, 
Or wind or time its material seize.