The Withered Flowers

The Withered Flowers

When like a flower,
I wither away,
When the night falls,
On the eve of my day,
Who will remember me?
Who’ll stand and mourn?
Who will place flowers,
My grave to adorn?
Questions to ponder,
While walking along,
Questions to think of,
While singing a song.

Friends, they will miss me,
And loved ones will weep,
Those who have known me,
A silence to keep,
For whom is it real?
Who wears a façade?
Who sits by and waits,
On my mem’ry to trod?
These questions are worthy,
Consider your friends,
Will they support you,
When you reach your end?

If your friend goes before you,
To the silencing grave,
As you stand there and watch,
At the end of his day,
Will you mourn, will you weep?
Will you grieve his demise?
Then embrace those he loved,
With the mem’ry of life?
These questions I pose,
Are for you to take note,
May you celebrate life,
As you ponder this rote.

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