Time to Wither

A flower does not fear death

Or panic as it starts to wither

It enjoys the sun as long as it can

And fades willingly

When it is time to wither

A shape of blue,

A shade of you,

When I asked you, come hither.

Dead butterflies smell of dead flowers,

Don’t ask me how I know,

And then the latter turn into yellow shades of old age

When it’s time to wither.

Cold air will make you shiver.

The sound of the oneiric

Winds of winter

Tears will fall thicker

As the years of your recondite life flit away breathlessly

And you feel inside, that it will soon be time to wither

For the rest of your wistful days. Your lovers will fade

As your sorrows grow endlessly.

But when is it time to wither?

When the winters of your life

Have worn you down to dust

And the trees of your summers

Have fallen back into the earth?

And a flower has no bones

Soon it will be time to wither.

Smelling the sweet of dead flowers

You look out the hideous window

Out to the cold, grey winter

Of dead leaves and bitter wind

Your hands wrinkle like

The petals that fell too soon

“Oh, far too soon!” she cried and

Devoured her heart

When it was finally time to wither.