• Petals droop, flowers picked
    who are we to forget
    those days we had, fully alive
    the goals we needed to strive
    lovely now, picked in prime
    how is it such a crime?
    to once be loved, then to be droped
    leaveing our tears to be mopped
    we are left to others as a gift
    while the sands of time slowly sift
    our time almost done
    though it's just begun
    my petals droop, my garden picked
    who am I to forget?