As it dies its colors become vivid.
Petals curl like ribbon strings as pastels
melt away and bleed to edges, resting
on the tips like dewdrops in the springtime.
Stamen blushes, crimson comes, emerging
like a softly glowing ember gently
summoned back to life by pleading breaths, and
it was slowly, painfully, becoming.
for the briefest moment it reveals what
it was slowly, painfully, becoming.
In the hour of death it shines
wilts
crumbles
turns to dust
wilts
crumbles
turns to dust
