Don’t Let Them Die

A flower is pretty, 
But the bud is prettier.
And to watch them open,
Like birds stretching their wings to fly,
Is one of the prettiest things I have ever seen.

How foolish of me to wake up one morning,
And force open the buds with my hasty hands,
To force it into this cruel world,
Like rough waves to the sea.

I knew it was far too delicate, 
And though its petals unfurled, the colours bloomed, 
It opened so beautifully
Yet so soon. 

And what a shame to die,
To die so unrecognised,
What a pretty sight to see, 
But only me to watch it bloom, 
And only me to watch it die.

To watch it die like an angel falling from the sky,
 With its wings, shattered on the ground like glass.
 And hours turned to days, as people passed by
 And pitied at the plight of my pride.
 
So I buried it deep in the soil from which it had grown,
And I threw the roots away. 


The petals are now turned to dust,
But the day is fresh in my mind, 
Like the grass in my garden
And even today it still haunts me like the grayest of ghosts. 

I have had pretty dreams where it was still abloom
Only to see empty soil and the night beyond. 
But there are still days when I cannot tear my eyes away 
From the spot in my garden which the prettiest of roses can't replace.