A blooming bud converted to flower,
And the flower lived happily,
But soon died its power,
And it withered away rapidly..
But the people around felt good,
Because it was all they wanted,
As they did all in their power that would,
Kill that flower-they taunted..
The flower died one day,
And in dirt and filth it lay,
People showed pity but never felt it,
Reality of dead flower with time became a myth.
Comments about this poem (Dead Flower by Srishti chaplot )
Top 500 Poems
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley