The Life and Death of a Flower

Spring’s salubrious skies

greets her wide open eyes

and fills them with brightness.

She opens her petaled wings

as the passing bird sings,

feeling an airy lightness.

The gaping green earth shows

much room for her to grow

and guides her in her climb

until her roots have built

beyond the mourning wilt

of her eventual decline.

Summer’s scorching shine

sooths her aching spine

slowing life to a standstill

until seconds are hours

and petals are whole flowers;

life a leisurely thrill,

but slow becomes reverse

and the heat becomes adverse,

no longer fine and fair,

her weathered skin breaks

and her spine once again aches

as the heat is too much to bare.

Autumn’s blustery glare

coldly whittles and wears

at the very green of her hope

until it is tainted brown

in a wilted frown

of an aged misanthrope.

But still there are odd rays

of times to be gay;

brief reminders of her youth

and yet after these spurts

reality alerts

in a manner cruel and uncouth.

Winter’s cold, frosty truth

slowly helps to soothe

her fragile blistering roots

as the end’s apparent

and her past is transparent

she forgets about old disputes,

and then the end is so swift

she feels an airy lift;

a thankfulness for closure,

and so none will cry

as she’s blown to the sky

in elegant composure.