• Blossom

    In the blooming blossoms core
    There lives a spirit, of that I'm sure.
    Delicate as a petal, but still she has thorns.
    Joy is her companion though there's much that she mourns.
    Spring is her life, come winter she'll die.
    Autumn is her aging, Autumn's when she'll cry.
    The frost upon the ground will sting her warm heart.
    Her death she'll know is nearing, she'd known it from the start.
    A flower's life is eternally beautiful in a human's eyes,
    But one must always remember that everything withers and dies.