Roses ere bloom
Amongst the summer sun,
Long they grow,
 Soon, though, all aging will be done.

Lone bud is born
From the grass,
The soil,
The roots
And the sun.
Yet when the harsh winter comes once more,
Lone flower’s life be done.

The petals crinkle,
The wind makes the plant shake.
No longer can the plant survive
The simplest of quakes.

The roots are frail,
The sunshine gone.
The once fresh leaves,
Crumpled in the dawn.

The soil underneath,
Is no longer so sweet
And water will no longer
Quench thirst.

What meaning is there
To this in-fragrant life?
What point is there,
To life amongst those who don’t care.

The rose looses its petals,
And no longer blossoms
As the weeds still live on.

Goodbye to life
Screams the wind,
This truly is the end.
Not enough help is the sun,
All must truly be done.
 

-Stephanie Tomicich-