• The sky darkens,
    life comes to a close.
    A gentle flower,
    it's stem weakens;
    as the flower starts to fall.
    Bright colors reside,
    leaving darkness in it's place.
    Wrinkled and crude,
    from the past sun's rays.
    The leaves starts to wilt,
    turning on itself,
    nowhere left to look,
    or hide.


    The pedals scrape against the frozen earth,
    a brush on rough tapestry.
    It tries to resists the undeniable end,
    the eager twist of fate;
    waiting to pin it's grasps
    and swallow the flower whole.

    The dying flower,
    takes one last breath,
    one last hope.
    As it's ragged lungs,
    cringe
    at the cool air.

    Almost there,
    but it hesistates,
    the earth placing a false comfort.
    A sly fox;
    with it's mouth wide open,
    fire in his eyes.
    It lets go,
    and the world stands still.
    The pedals crumble,
    turning into a light dust,
    grazing the frigid surface.

    To be so desolate,
    to go unnoticed,
    really is a thing to mourn.