FLOWERS

 

Flowers,

a beautiful, delicate gift of nature,

You’ll never meet anyone who abhors the creation

flowers,

An expression of love to another,

A bouquet of roses makes the heart thump louder,

The mouth stretches at the corners into a warm smile

flowers,

Laid carefully above the deceased,

An expression of honor for the fragile, fleeting nature of life flowers,

Carrying a sweet aroma that eases the soul, and relaxes your tense shoulders, The very scent carried by the wind strips you of your distress flowers,

Beloved and desired as they are,

Cannot stay forever

flowers

With beauty and novelty so alluring,

Yet it meets death’s doors too soon

flowers,

If adored only in name,

Withers and wilts away

flowers,

They blossom and bloom in the tenderness of your care,

But does your care last longer than its feeble mortality?

For once the flower is reduced to its brittle form,

Curled petals of a pale, tired hue as its head droops low in quiet sorrow, Who will love this forsaken, faded gift of nature now?

Manal Azhar X O Beta