by Candy Bullet
Very short metaphorical description of a flowers life.
She reaches sky-wards; a heavy headed model as natural as the earth she sprung from. She stands as a proud, prim and proper lady with makeup and hair of fabulous red and a skinny, sublimely green body. She closes her eyes when night wraps her in hands of coldness and opens them wide when the sun strokes her face with gentle, warm gestures. She often forgets the sun to shower with the rain and flirt with the wind; but both of their flaring tempers are damaging to her delicate form, sometimes snatching away pieces of her hair and bashing her over. She hopes she’ll be gorgeous when she is old, but as her hair is ripped, torn and lost her hopes wither. Her once straight body bends, sags and discolours and hands which reached out eagerly to life around her are wrinkled and gnarled. Night’s coldness becomes cruel and rain and wind continue to beat her. Now bald, bruised and ugly she inwardly weeps, but before she falls to the ground and dies the sun pays her a visit holding her and bathing her in its warmth. She feels loved.