A fading flower weeps fragility and grace,
A delicate beauty beholding its face,
Each shrivelling petal gets wrinkled and worn,
Exhausted, world weary, it’s weathered and torn.
Their once clear complexion, plumped up and pert,
Has a soft irridescence, a look of feint hurt.
They haven’t the strength to turn round to the light,
Hanging their heads, they long for goodnight.
Withered lines whisper small parts in their story,
Where past vibrant colours added joy to their glory.
Slowly they crumple down under the strain,
Too frail to stand, too bruised to remain.
Exposing their soul, with their last dying flame,
A shadow of loveliness, they offer no shame.
Giving in quietly, their duties fulfilled,
The next generation is sure to rebuild.
Lying prostrate and broken, hugging the ground,
Their life force released, their peace on earth found,
Their core sinks down deeply, to sing its last song,
Awaiting rebirth, more powerful and strong.
15th April 2019
It’s sad to see the daffodils coming to the end of their season, after such a wonderful showing this year. However, when I walked past them yesterday, I had a good look at how they were fading. They take on a different kind of beauty, in my opinion. Some looked like they were hanging onto a neighbouring flower that was still buoyant, others had pieces missing, showing the insides of the bloom..fascinating! At least they will eventually return to the earth, nourishing the ground & ultimately, the bulb, ready for next year.