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Withered
December 3, 2010
I sit here by the flower,
You planted in this pot,
Every day its petals become a little more sour,
It’s beauty begins to rot,
It makes me sad,
I miss you more than you know,
How can I be glad,
When beauty loses it’s glow,
You know where to find me,
You know your way back,
Sitting by the old oak tree,
Ill be, my heart withered and black,
From missing what couldn’t be true,
I never found someone,
My heart never grew,
The sadness blocked my sun,
My sun was you…
© Brian M., Fishers, IN
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