She called it the flower of hope;
a dark, black, gloomy daisy.
It was the flower that bloomed only in the shadows;
singing it's mellifluous melodies vanquishing all her sorrow;
filling her heart with blissful tomorrows.
But alas,
such an enthralling beauty is now wilting.
"whose flower is that?", I asked, shaken.
As I watched her frown while
she quivered her flower
she sobbed tears down her cheeks till it drowned.
"The flower of hope, it's dead!"
she uttered.
She rose from her bitter bed with a wretchedness heart;
idolizing death, she walked a path of never ending dread.
After all, the flower of hope is dead.
-A.S-
