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