My lavender is dying,
and with it goes my peace.
It’s slowly molding over,
a useless centerpiece.
My roses all are dying,
and with them goes my love.
They’ve slowly starved and withered
while the seasons passed above.
My daisies all are dying,
and in tandem my demure.
They froze beneath the winter
and have no more allure.
All my soft things fading,
each petal pulled apart
these flowers, frail and failing,
mirror matters of the heart.
Yet somewhere seeds are sleeping,
beneath the barren loam,
and even gardens, grieving,
can find their way back home.