In the quiet dawn of morning light,
Petals whisper secrets soft and slight,
A dance of color fades to gray,
As life and death in gardens play.
Among the roses, shadows creep,
A silent promise they will keep,
Each bloom a tale of fleeting grace,
A transient beauty, time can’t erase.
The lilies bow in solemn prayer,
Their fragrance mingles with despair,
In every blossom, life’s last breath,
A symphony of flowers and death.
Yet in this cycle, hope resides,
For even as each flower dies,
New buds will rise, their colors bright,
A testament to endless night.