Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash
Sitting on the table
The shadow of a fiery bloom
Once a bold red
with a sweet perfume.
In water’s absence
Green shriveled to grey
Fibers broke like paper
Filling the air with decay.
Once picked from the bush
No blossom is the same
After a few days
Only petals remain.
About the Creator
Meg
Musings, poems, and stories
Wishing for World Peace
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