Flowers are meant to fruit
Nipping in the bud to abate
To boast a fragrance
Evidence of a sprightly existence
With a sweet heart of nectar
Calling birdies and worker bees to supper
Of silky soft petals and fragility
Of shapes sizes disposition and variety
Of graceful patterns hearty colour and beauty
Some born on thorn and poison
Some gentle to touch, glad to behold
Always looking forward to bloom
Always dreading the imminent and inevitable droop
Graves and epitaphs to be their final place
The arms of the lucky lady to grace
Gladdening hearts at holy matrimonies
However mean, beauty remains
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem