In gardens where the lilies weep,
Their tears are dew on silent morn,
Beneath the skies where shadows creep,
A tapestry of life reborn.

The roses bloom in crimson grace,
Yet know the night will softly call,
In fragrance, echoes of their place,
A dance with time, the rise and fall.

The daisies nod in gentle prayer,
To winds that carry whispers low,
In fields where sun and sorrow share,
A fleeting trace of what we know.

Amidst the blooms, in twilight’s breath,
A story told in petals’ hue,
Of beauty’s bond with silent death,
A cycle old, yet ever new.