- Joined
- Nov 20, 2024
Flowers wilt, petals fall, a drizzle of blossoms sky-blotting,
Colors fade, fragrance dies-but who shall mourn their passing?
To the garden I go, in hand a flower-rake,
Only to pace, lest crushed the scatter'd blossoms I make.
Thus, in this trouble world I breathe, To shut my eyes is my sole reprieve.
Colors fade, fragrance dies-but who shall mourn their passing?
To the garden I go, in hand a flower-rake,
Only to pace, lest crushed the scatter'd blossoms I make.
Thus, in this trouble world I breathe, To shut my eyes is my sole reprieve.