wilted, the flower gave all its beauty
only to have its petals left to dry out
crumbled and crunched
like leaves in fall
and falls that leave
quickly
become something else
no longer recognizable
now cold and stark and quiet
the winter that keeps to itself
too cold to stop and chat
but the flower
now only a stem
looking dead
lookinglostforgotten
simply rather
rather simply
flowing with the season
playing
smartkeeping
quietlaying
low
southwestern colddried
sorrowripped cracked
red dust filling in the space
where novelty's worn thin
pray home will fill in
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