The pressed flower

The pressed flower

The pressed flower

Between the pages of the tome

Once so alive and blooming,

Waking each morning smiling to the sun

Now dry artifact ,dead memory

The fragile leaves and petals 

Can be blown by accidental wind,

Smashing to the tiny pieces

Frangible existence

Born, grow, try to persevere in

The rat race, wither like this flower

Die , evolving into cosmic body

Recollection in the loved one's mind

by Margaret Gudkov