The dark flower, mysterious And demonic in its pristine beauty A curse of immortality, Passed down through the ages
From her mind, grand adventures and scenic worlds bloomed beautifully.
Squirrels dart around The towering oak tree, Scrounging for bits of food I watch them, a small smile Resting on my face As I bask in another beautiful day
Fear of being harmed again, But blind hope for a miracle, too A disaster waiting to happen, Perhaps
Chrysanthemums line barren halls, As empty as the promise made That now forgotten day