L** ilies start to wither, worn by the hope
O f waiting for rain, droplets full and cool
N ever to touch the dying petal, with its fading color
G one with its last ounce of life, all tangled up
I n the dream of sustenance; it's soul ever optimistic,
N ever failing to reach, to cry up to the scorching sun, begging for what is
G one.
❀