The flower's are wilting
They're growing old and faint
They cant see how much i've grown
Or all of the pictures i can paint.
They cant see me dance
Or how my face has changed
They sit there and wilt
They will wilt until nothing remains
Time is running out
Time is fleeting fast
I wish that time had stopped
I wish this could always last.
YOU ARE READING
writings from within the forest
Poesíastories and poems regarding fern trees grown from forest floors surrounded by buttercups and peonies. works from nature
