365 days a year

15 5 8
                                    

flowers

The soil is so soft here, I think I'll make a home;

Stretch out my leaves and plant my roots and give the bees a place to roam.

I'll take a rest and poison air I'll ingest, breathing out the light;

The rain is never too heavy here and the sunshine never too bright.

Years - they pass - and here I stay, swaying in the breeze;

The sky above is a glorious view as I live among the trees.

But didn't you know, the further time goes, the more danger there is to bear?

They came in the night and burned out my flight, I wanted to fight...but didn't dare.

My colors still pretty but faded and weary, plucked right from the ground;

Crushed petals pressed between two pieces of plastic and some paper...

You wouldn't even know they killed me, I couldn't breathe a noise nor make a sound.

Sitting on the shelf of some gift shop, dried flowers at a reasonable price;

Fingers crossed a kind person will buy me, perhaps display me or just tuck me aside.

The next time you see me my reds will be pink, my blues barely leaving a trace;

My stem has been long gone but somehow I hang on, do I still have a beautiful face?

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