Paul Butters

Flower Folk - Poem by Paul Butters

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,
Then sprout and grow
To take our place
And thus complete
The Cyclical Circle
Of Life.

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Topic(s) of this poem: life

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Robert Frost

Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening

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Poem Submitted: Sunday, October 5, 2008

Poem Edited: Friday, May 15, 2015

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