Some rest in a lover’s trembling hands,
whispering vows too soft to last.
Some lie upon a quiet chest,
a farewell kiss from petals past.
Some twirl free in the morning breeze,
brushing the sky in fleeting flight.
Some are pressed between old pages,
holding echoes of moonlit nights.
Some are worn behind an ear,
a fragrant crown for fleeting youth.
Some are crushed beneath careless feet,
forgotten before they bloomed.
Some wilt alone, unseen, unsung,
fading into the earth once more.
Yet all have known a moment’s grace,
a touch, a tear, a love once pure.
For every petal tells a story,
each bloom a breath, a life, a chance—
and whether scattered, held, or broken,
every flower still must dance.
— 🌸
Mar 26, 2025
Mar 26, 2025 at 2:14 PM UTC
Some rest in a lover’s trembling hands,
whispering vows too soft to last.
Some lie upon a quiet chest,
a farewell kiss from petals past.
Some twirl free in the morning breeze,
brushing the sky in fleeting flight.
Some are pressed between old pages,
holding echoes of moonlit nights.
Some are worn behind an ear,
a fragrant crown for fleeting youth.
Some are crushed beneath careless feet,
forgotten before they bloomed.
Some wilt alone, unseen, unsung,
fading into the earth once more.
Yet all have known a moment’s grace,
a touch, a tear, a love once pure.
For every petal tells a story,
each bloom a breath, a life, a chance—
and whether scattered, held, or broken,
every flower still must dance.
— 🌸
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