Like flowers, life is formed,
It blossoms to the rhythms of the seasons;
It stands back up after being stepped on,
Putting on its prettiest fronts,
So no one'll ever know how it feels within.
Like flowers, the colors of life fade someday,
And writhes and withers eventually,
Giving itself back to the Earth,
From whose womb it was birthed.
Copyright © 2016 thearcticstar