Dried Flowers

Flowers have their own time to bloom,

Started as an ordinary shrub,

If the day was right,

If the sun was bright,

If the bees have gone by,

Its time will come,

To show the world,

That she has grown and bloomed.

In time, it has served lovers,

Families and churches,

Graves and parks,

It will leave its marks.

But beauty is not infinite, 

It can end, it can be withered,

No water, no minerals,

No sunshine, no rain,

Can stop this natural wonder?

Arid and weak, dried flowers we speak,

It has dull colors and seemed meek,

It has its unique beauty as we speak,

Though aged and parched, 

Dried flowers utter memories and hearts.