Flower Children

We are the new flower children, Waking in the morn to greet the three-petaled flower. This flower never closes day or night, And plants itself in lands far away. We are the children of this new flower, For it has raised us more than our parents. Sometimes, it cares for us, shedding light and warmth, But often it reminds us of its destructive might. Forests, fields, hopes, dreams, All are swept away. Cities, temples, rivers, lakes, None shall withstand its wrath. Young, old, sick, hale, All are turned to ash. All our potential - good and ill, Now they shall never pass. The three-petaled flower, its children are we, We live in the borrowed time of its shadow. We look at the face of the apocalypse, Yet we have no fear. For it is all we have ever known.