My Poor Wilting Self

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I lie here dead and wilting,
my petals float to the ground.
My once shapely body,
is now twisted,
and misshapen,
and smashed into the mud.
My once yellow petals
are now stained,
brown with dirt.
I used to be held high
by my trusty stem.
My buds would reach for the sky,
like an ancient tree.
But now my stem is bending.
The color from my once striking petals
is gone,
bleached by sun.
Soon, I am sure,
that I will resemble a pile,
of miserable,
downhearted mud.





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