Like a flower
He found her fragile, soft.
An aroma as sweet as any other.
Her hair was the soft golden yellow
Of the summer time petals.
She was small,
She was beautiful.
He had to have her,
She had to be his.
So he picked her up
Ripping her from all she had known,
To give her only what he knew.
But like a flower plucked from its bed,
She quickly began to grow old,
Withering at a rapid rate.
The soft yellows became dirty browns,
Shriveling, falling away.
When you've stolen a flower from her home,
All she knows;,
You must prepare yourself
For the ugly that will grow,
The grave that must be dug.
The eternal slumber to what once was
Beauty in its greatest form.