Every season comes to an end
Yet she knows she'll bloom again
Bloom... Send fragrances across the land
Pride
Vanity
Simple happiness
Then the wilting begins
Sometimes slowly
Many times abruptly
Painful all the time
She wishes she never bloomed
Why, to wilt so brown?
True, the wind felt good
True, swaying merrily felt like it was worth it
But every season seems to end
Sometime or the other
With or without a closure
The need to go underneath and hide there
Engulfs her
As she goes about doing something or the other
Knowing full well that no one will notice her
Poor wilting, wailing wind flower.
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