Flowers die. Unsung, unlamented without being missed. Yet, they take birth to please all with their scent and colour.
Credit: Ipopba from pixabay
Flowers die. Unsung, unlamented without being missed.
So many times I have offered them to you, Unwanted in love, Or in supplication. In celebration or at a funeral.
Flowers die, No one misses their scent or colour, But by the birds, the bees, and the butterflies. Rain falls and wonders where have all the flowers gone, The Sun rises daily in the hope of seeing the flowers bloom.
Flowers die. Unsung, unlamented without being missed.
Yet, they take birth to please all with their scent and colour, They spring up between the cracks of the concrete walls to give hope, They swing in the breeze on the ruins of the empire, welcoming eternity, They appear on the parched cracked earth, bringing life to fruition.
Flowers die. Unsung, unlamented without being missed.
The rain falls to see the flowers bloom and feels fulfilled, The Sun shines to see the flowers burst out in different colours, and rejoice, The breeze blows to carry the scent of the flowers to places. Birds sing in frenzy and bees dance intoxicated seeing the flower bloom, And I live to bring that flower to you.
I am a writer and softskill trainer. My first passion is reading, followed by writing on various topics. I have 30+ years of corporate working experience.
