Wither

I am a flower, you are a grave

You house the one that they couldn’t save

A simple hole that was given death,

but in it, found a life and breath

You now have a story that needs to be told

A tale of your master words simply can’t hold

I know, in time, I’ll wither away

I am the flower of his dying day

I bear the burden of telling you this

For you’ve seen the wonders of death’s solemn kiss

Never forget those entrusted to you

You are his grave, and, soon, mine too

I am the blessing of your charge’s soul

A gift to help you pay Time’s toll

I won’t last long, but know this is true:

I think it’s been nice, talking to you