Withered

By: Joe Howard

Like a blooming Spring flower
I grow toe to head,
and like love in the summer
I am withered and dead.

Love flourishes and dies
like a birthday suprise,
Like flowers grow dreary
I see now so clearly.

For I'm like that sweet flower
growing each day, by the hour,
But I'm like the summer love knew...
So true, to me... So gullible I can be.

I'm like that dead flower
without any power
over thoughts in my head,
I am withered,... and dead.