A lone silver flower sits in a field. Nothing to call home, nobody to speak to. With nothing but a frail beam of moonlight to hold onto.
A lone silver flower sits in a field. In wait to picked, by a child's loving hand. With nothing but a dream to keep itself alive.
A lone silver flower sits in a field. As day passes, its petals wither. With nothing but a simple wish to keep it from fading.
A lone silver flower sits in a field. Withered onto the ground, meeting friends for the first time. With nothing but them to keep it from losing hope.
SuperSingingSox · Fri Jul 13, 2007 @ 06:57am · 0 Comments |