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When Flowers did not Die so Young
A small, white flower in the moonlight,
 
 A little speck among the grasses,
 
 It glistened by the riverside
 
 A tiny piece of pure white gold.
 
 Nature embraced it,
 
 The wind blew it a goodbye,
 
 The rain adorned it with silver liquid.
 
 It sung a melody,
 
 Reminding oak trees of the days of old
 
 When such beautiful, small flowers
 
 Were not rarities.
 
 When flowers
 
 Did not die so young.

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