the weed.

Red, pink, purple hue, Petals gleam in morning dew. Dandelions rise, violets sing, Buttercups glow—golden ring. White roses stretch, open wide, Bending softly, filled with pride. They dance in sunlight, swaying free, But one flower fades, none can see. Shriveled stem, a silent plea, A petal falls—no elegy. Wilting slowly, bending low, Tears unseen begin to flow. The breeze ignores its quiet sigh, The sun moves on, the days drift by. No mourning bell, no solemn sound, A life once bright, now lost, unfound. Among the bloom, it withers fast, A final breath—its time has passed. And yet the field, still proud, still bright, Never turns to see its plight.