Mom finally asks,
How was your day?
And I say,
At least it was better,
Than the wilted flower,
I am missing the water,
To bring it back to life with.
YOU ARE READING
Wilted
PoetryShe couldn't see him, But she was all he could see. Raw Poetry, by: Mae Ethlyn
Him
Mom finally asks,
How was your day?
And I say,
At least it was better,
Than the wilted flower,
I am missing the water,
To bring it back to life with.
