We are the beautiful ones
the petals in the last of bloom
whose withered creases show translucent
in the stare if the sun
We are the long forgotten
the wildflower beside the road
enticing the young to pick
and bring early death
We have become wise
the lashings of the storm
we allow to teach us
what we hate to know
perhaps when our petals are nothing more than yellowed memories in the scrapbook of our thoughts, we will be remembered for blessings we never noticed
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