Dünne Blume

I am
weak as a plucked flower
stolen into a vase
after all the water had evaporated
and my scent faded, 
removed or set free, in hast
decomposing slowly where I was laid
to rest, broken pieces of pedals
picked up by wind and carried away
for another spring to pass
until a trace of me could take root
and grow untouched, 
strong at last.

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