how do we see age in a flower?
is it marked by the withering of her leaves, or is it in the soft sigh of her petals as they rustle lightly against the zephyr?
is it in the tender droop of her stem as she bows to an expanse of her sisters, forgoing her youth's firmness and resilience for a gentle acceptance of what may be?
as the dawn speeds up does she, too, speed up, until all that remains is a pile of potpourri in a glass bowl? or is her fragility yet remembered in the vestiges of her beauty, wisps of a girl who is no longer but could have never been forgotten?
where do we find the age in a flower?
for i do not believe she is timeless.