This flower,
this life:
petalled and
fragrant it seems
in the
sun-stripped breeze.
Form, colour
and appearance
of happiness
and beauty
are contained in its stems
and petals.
But the brown
creeping colour
of demise comes
soon enough,
defiling the petals,
with his cold certain hand,
like a mad painter who,
having lost
his pallet of beauty,
can only paint death.
26-1-2014