The Flower Poem by chris schwartz

Bittersweet pedals
Of Life's early flowers
Fall helplessly
To the ground,
Draping the still innocent
With memories
Of all the beauty
You have adorned.
Still,
In the final hour,
You blame yourself
For not capturing
The rapture,
For not saving
The beauty
Of the bouquet
The fragrance
That only seems pure
When its colors
Wilt
Upon the vine
Climbing ever so slowly
On the wall
Of obstruction.
And on the wall,
You will still climb.
And your beauty
Down the path
Of ever after,
Will succumb
Just as my flower did
Blooming for only a
Short while
Before winter finally came.