105. A Delicate Flower

I found myself 

a delicate flower,

upon the late

midnight hour,

All alone,

with the moon

shining so bright,

I, too, was 

all on my own;

something that

we had in common.

It was what allowed

me to meet her,

for the very

first time,

and the very last.

For after I held her 

in my hands,

she then wilted,

and withered away.

As white flakes 

fell from the sky,

I knew that her stay,

was naught but a lie,

as her fragile life

did nothing but decay,

and I knew, too,

that one day,

so would mine.