Flower Folk Poem by Paul Butters

Flower Folk



We are but flowers budding in
The summer sun.
To blossom, seed, then wither,
Our petals drying
And dying:
Blown away and scattered
By the howling wind.
Those seeds,
However,
Then sprout and grow
To take our place
And thus complete
The Cyclical Circle
Of Life.

Sunday, October 5, 2008
Topic(s) of this poem: life
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Paul Butters

Paul Butters

Leeds, West Yorkshire.
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