Friday, November 7, 2008

Poetry, the Golden Years: Nature's Life

A tiny sprout starting to bloom

The petals' shade of gorgeous red 
The soil is its fertile bed
It now sits in a sunny room

Its life is absolutely gone, there isn't any more
It became a showpiece with no charm
It was taken away from its large farm
And when it wilts, it will become a hanger on a door.

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