A stunning morning.
Sunshine decking the glory filled lawn.
Night's swept away on the brush of a fox.

Lamenting my flowers.
They have passed.
A natural tragedy.
They have withered and died.
Disappeared, in what seemed like the blink of an eye.
They shall be retained.
Deep in the brain.
The brain of the lady.
Work is bereft.

Final recollection, that all things must pass.
Their beauty shall not be ashes,but scrunched up dry dust.
I shall find a spot in the garden.
Where I shall lay memories of my friends to rest.
And hence I explain my flowers away.
So precious were these flowers.
Burnings' so final you know.
Once they were beauteous.
Once so was I.
A bouquet of beauty.
Sadly they've died.
True beauty lives in the beholders eye.
(c) Livvi