On the first day I wilt.
On the second day I wither.
And wither
And wither
And wither
And then comes winter,
And I'll be nothing.
I was always told that there's a calm before the storm.
And with April showers, I blossomed again.
But spring has already come and gone, taking it's course.
And the summer sun will only wear and wither me out.
Later will come fall, and we will all fall.

Z.H.