Flowers dried and brown, lying crumpled in a vase out of
the way and in a corner.
Bothering no one, lying in their death, wishing to have
their youth and beauty once again.
Knowing their loss, their essence is fading quickly into
another evening on their final horizon.
Last chance for each of them to show their dainty faces
before finally expiring and being thrown into a trash can.
Tomorrow being tossed into a garbage truck, their purpose
and usefulness gone.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem