Fallen flowers start to fade,
on the grass, beneath the trees;
Wilting slowly, in the shade,
like forgotten memories.
Withered with a wrecking wrath,
Trodden on to waste away;
Lying on a lonely path,
Bittersweet bruised bouquet.
And so I pick these flowers
that once sparkled in full bloom;
that flourished in sweet bowers,
sharing a fragrant perfume.
These offerings, I place, at a wayside shrine,
to mingle with the memories, that once were yours and mine.
©
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem