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Loves Flowers

Love is the Passing,
Blushing,
Frailty of a Flower,
Shimmering Brightly in the
Warm Light afforded it.

But when the Wind blows
From the North,
It withers all away,
Falling to Dire Sleep,
Most Dreadful,
Endless Slumber.

Yet Spring oft’ Brings
Delicate Warmth;
Tender Life Anew.
And if this Love will
Flourish and Bloom,
Depends, My Sweet,
Upon You.

~Morgan~
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Beautiful Image found on Pinterest