A withered flowers journey
A wilted flower withered and weathered A single blow could push it like a feather. No water to quench it's dying thirst. alone in a barren field. The sun is gone. Darkness and frivolous chill constantly nip the air. Doomed to succumb shall it. Years go by. And yet that flowers tiny roots hold on by a thread. To see the changing world. Decades go by, only to feel lonesome and hopeless. Still the flower must hold on. Each year the roots break and die. But this year something anew. A sprout. A glimmer of sun and warmth. The roots take place once more healing within. As the sprout grows so do other things, the field is no longer barren. The Sun shines more brightly. At last another flower grows and blooms beside the withered one. And it is the same of the same kind. They dance in the wind a language all their own just to intertwine their roots and hold firm. They are still young, but they are intertwined, and found the perfect match to bring them back to life. They hold strong even on the darkest days. They hold tight.