A wild flower perched on a hill.
He adored each pedal and limb, yet in time
Her beauty’d gradually wilt.
With the spin of the earth,
Rays of morning’s sun
New potential of beauty lost,
Poked up through the dirt.
Yet his admiration for her, undeterred;
On her fallen petals he clung,
Gathering what of she remained.
He ran through a field of new blooms
To percisely place her in a frame
Only to hang in his room.
Though she sadly perished,
As all things do,
It was her being that he cherished;
Which he hung on to
And with new Summer’s heat
He returned her high on that hill.
Beside her he took a seat
To wait patiently,
On Mother Earth; still.
Out creeps she, more glorious than before.
And in awe of her beauty Devine,
That he lived to adore and mend.
They were without grieve of reluctant time,
For love is without end!