Fate Of The Flowers

​It was Valentine

They were but all held

Held tightly in hands

In the hands of the giver

Purposely to be given out

 In the hands of receiver

Not to keep not to throw

But to gravely feel

Now valentine is over

They lay down withering

Trodden and trampled upon

No longer fresh Juliet roses

But wrinkled and shriveled

No one remembers

What they made out of yesterday

They take it solemnly

Knowing it’s their destiny


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