Amidst the garden, whispers low,
Where roses bloom, then fade away,
Life’s fleeting beauty, a gentle glow,
In death’s embrace, they softly sway.

Petals fall like silent tears,
Carried by winds of time’s cruel grace,
Yet in their fall, no fear appears,
For beauty’s essence leaves a trace.

Each blossom tells a story brief,
Of vibrant hues and fragrant breath,
Yet none escape the touch of grief,
As flowers find their peace in death.

So let us pause and breathe the air,
Where life and death in balance stand,
In every bloom, a whispered prayer,
Of nature’s gentle, guiding hand.