Withering Flower

My third (I guess technically fourth) submission for this contest, a withering flower. The image comes from a poem I wrote [link] , and basically represents all my philosophical questioning: "Why do we act the way we do, and would it make any real difference if we acted differently?" A flower is beautiful, and does what it is "supposed" to do: attempt to reproduce. And yet, it is doomed to die, and nothing it does will change that. Knowing that, is it worth living, giving birth to more lives and more deaths? (No, I'm not suicidal or something. It's a basic question, even if the answer is not so simple.)