The Flower

When unknown Gods
Planted the seed,
To blossom
In breathtaking colour and scent.
Such beauty we would always need.
But the flower of love
Always came and went.

Don't crush it in your hand
Don't rush it,
Understand.
Every second, every hour
Cherish.
But perish
Will your flower.

Now dried.
And dead in Winter field.
For others
Spring time will be revealed.
As fate does wait
The seeds are cast.
We agonise of Summers past.
To dwell and bathe in sunlit dew.
Where once
Our fragile flower grew.