The Withered Flower

It is Spring time now. Spring has left me feeling inspired. Summer is ahead. All these things stirred up emotions inside that I just had to get out. I hope you enjoy.

The way it folds and opens and closes is the most beautiful mystery. 

                        When it rains it radiates this slight hesitance upon yielding to the cold droplets. 

Once it is coated with dew and droplets; doing there job this rippling mist from the sky hugs it delicately yet clings firm to it's entire existence. 

The sun is the enemy as it begins to rise high above the meadow. 

It's fiery heat sends waves that quickly burn into the atmosphere. 

This once misty flower, dappled with dew, over time, turns into nothing but a withered, lifeless, light, crispy and twisted up frame of what once was. 

It no longer springs up confidently with each rain fall. 

It no longer is pleasing to the eye. 

What once was is no more and never before. Life still remains a mystery. 

Author's Note

I would appreciate you telling me what you thought of this poem after reading it. Thanks!!