Oh, little flower,
How do the weeks go by?
I planted you, in hopes of bloom,
And to watch your petals fly.
Hello, precious flower,
You grew so very fast.
Once your leaves were fresh and green,
But nothing’s made to last.
Persephone’s sweet design,
Your face was once so blue.
Sometimes I ponder, if after our summer,
That we must wither too?
Comments
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Yay finally a new poem
hmm. i know this is supposed to be metaphorical to SOMEthin but me no gets it. persephone?? is that some ancient greek god or summim? And i know this is supposed to sound like your talkin to the flower but eh... just eh... the end is pretty good though.
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