Feelings abundant of being cut down in my youth,
cut flowers withering in a forgotten vase of dirty water,
the sea of life.
No miracle could revive this empty vessel.
Beauty cut down in its prime.
Wilting leaves, heads drooping never to see the glare of light again.
Constant trimming in an effort to stay alive.
A change of water yet their florescence still dwindles.
Their flowers never allowed their full potential, the unlucky ones.
There isn't anything much more beautiful them blossom covered paths and trees in spring.