By A.N. Flores
Three Pretty flowers lined up in a row;
All searching for the sun, all watching it go.
One consumed by beauty, grander than the sky;
She turns away from the sun, wilts and then dies.
Another bows her head affected by the seasons;
As the sun moves away, she's lost beyond reason.
The last pretty flower sways from side to side;
Not letting the world know the sorrow she tries to hide.
Three pretty flowers lined up in a row;
Living for a sun that doesn't care at all.