Mourning Flowers


I think about it and I realize,
They're just like us trying to survive.
But they're holding on in the wilderness,
While we're all in our warm homes complaining.
But they don't utter a peep.

We always want more when winter comes,
To us it's a time of presents and celebrating.
Winter means only one thing to them-
Death.

In the summer everyone is happy.
"School is over!" we all shout with joy.
But the flowers swaying in the breeze only whisper,
"It's nice to be alive."

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