Pressed flowers in all her books
Hesitation with all her looks
Finds need to save the bloom
Before it meets its doom
A beauty so undeserved
Is best quickly preserved
Before its course is run
And life makes it undone
Sure, the colors fade
From what God had made
Keep the memory pure
Is, to her, allure
Upon winter's icy breath
Finds shelter amidst the death
No calm after the storm
No reaching out for warm
Not one to plant a seed
It will only be a weed
She won't wait for birds to sing
She's got no faith in spring
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment