Dead flowers,
that once floursished,
Sacrificed.
Severed from there source,
left to scorch,
under foriegn burning lights.
Placed in a vase,
half filled with purified water.
Admired for your perfurumed petals,
and striking red fingers.
Then discarded,
Once you withered.
All things must fade,
those that admire
just hurry the proccess along.
Not Long Left
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dead-flowers-2/
