Mystery Monk looked at the arrangement of flowers.
They were well past their best,
in places petals had dropped off,
or started to shrivel.
Despite this there was still beauty in their muted colours,
and shapes.
A beauty that was different to when they were fresh,
but no less real.
"Why do we only value to new and latest things?"
pondered mystery Monk.
The elderly Abbot smiled, and wondered off to prayers,
pausing to admire the ageing beauty of his reflection
in the window as he passed by.
