The Flower

The flower we nurtured
With tears and sunshine smiles,
Now languishes in autumn light.

Purple petals drooping,
Shivering in the breeze;
Shadowed by the encroaching night.

Stars in solemn mourning,
Watching from skies above,
Proclaim it a pitiful sight.

This flower, born of spring;
Cradled in summer arms,
Embracing a wintery blight.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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