Dead flowers lay on the floor
stems cut to try and save the petals in failed attempt
One
      By one
           They all fall
Until there's nothing left at all


The Autumn chill indicating the end
For without death,
no one would miss the twirl of a sycamore seed
or the fresh face of daisies who have just bloomed

So as all the petals fall,
and I gently go with
Maybe I'll be missed after all