Flowers On The Road Poem by Peter S. Quinn

Flowers On The Road



Flowers on the road,
With their pretty colours on;
Eventually die to the dust,
Wither in the winter's sun.

All must become old,
Into a new world though born;
Feather-light and young,
Before, to the road it's torn.

Fresh becomes its flame,
Burning and flickering;
Oh why must this be so?
What fate to life is triggering.

I hear the wind blowing,
Through the roads that move on;
It's telling my years, in distance,
Before I am too gone.

I shall be like these flowers,
That grows beside the road and glow;
Any efforts are in vain,
Like my footsteps in the snow.

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