THE HAND OF TIME

THE HAND OF TIME
By PoeticMeditations

The hand of Time has touched the bloom
Which now begins to slowly droop
To end what started in the womb;
The upright head begins to stoop.

Supple edges begin to fray,
Colors start to slowly pale
Till all is turned to ashen gray;
What once was strong turns weak and frail.

Each petal will drop one by one
Till nothing’s left but barren stem.
No longer felt the warming sun;
Grows faint the light before the end.

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