Flower

Our love is like a flower,
growing wild every day.
But just like us, they have a dying time.
As their seeds have been laid.
Seasons change,
just like our world changes.
Who is to say were not like flowers?
We all stop breathing.
Only promised two things.
Living and dying.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2011

Poem

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Book: Diverse Voices: The Poetry of Human Rights and the Pursuit of Peace