The rose recognizes the beauty of the sunflower, all the while self-assured in her own. She does not envy the golden beauty for her appeal to you
She knows better - she has guarded her stem from the likes of your fingers and the fingers of those before you, and the ones that will come after
She knows that while you, selfishly and ignorantly, believe the garden to be created for your caressing fingers and greedy hands, they are, in fact, only made for two purposes: to grow and to create.
Their beauty only coincidence and irrelevant
But the sunflower is unknowing, and falls prey to the warmth of your gaze and the delight of your fingers, so she blindly trusts your hands as they pluck her from the ground.
Though all too soon she realizes her fate
A fate altered at the fingers of your greedy hands
To decay, allowing no further growth
To wither, limiting her time to create