The flowers dare not move in the breeze
Nor feel the enticing tease of the bumble bees
The vines too grow still
Frozen in place; clinging to the window sill
The morning sun rises and shines down
The petals of the flowers begin to drip colors to the ground
Time, it seems, has taken its tax
As it burns away the once illuminous garden of wax
Author notes
Written October 10th, 2006
Adding your comment: