I stumbled accross this lone, ruddy orange flower and it held my attention for many snaps. It just looks so sad and tattered poor child.
For my loins are filled with a loathsome disease: and there is no soundness in my flesh. I am feeble and sore broken: I have roared by reason of the disquietness of my heart. Lord, all my desire is before thee; and my groaning is not hid from thee.