Poetry.
A blossom
An untouched flower.
Waiting to be picked.
It will only be beautiful For a short time
Youth is fleeting
When the blossom wilts
And Becomes one
With the Earth again
No one will remember
How beautiful,
How fragrant,
How soft This flower was.
The next will bloom
As if There never was one Before.
Welcome to Authspot, the spot for creative writing.
Read some stories and poems, and be sure to subscribe to our feed!
