Flowers donot speak. They whisper, in a strange tongue. They unleash myriad expressions, they unleash the spirit within. Gratitude, Compassion, Joy, Hope, Peace. For me, they bring solace to my troubled soul, wrapped in eternal tranquility. In a life gliding on rolling time, bring to me an excuse for a moment's pause. I admire flowers, though I never confess I do, so the milder of my self may lay hidden within me, away from the blazing furnace outside.
They often say it with flowers. I have seen the three magic words sparkle and weave its spell around the blessed, as the red rose sings out to her of the love so deep as its colour, so intoxicating as its fragrance, so gentle as its touch. I have always dreamed, Some such divine bliss, layed on my pillow by that one loving admirer of mine.
Not for long will these flowers stay here for me. With the commencing of the fall they would wither and depart. The summer sun will not need much time to melt the delicate petals away. My garden of dreams will soon be left with nothing but mere rags of dull, decaying colour, to adorn.
I watch the dry leaves on the ground. Perhaps its time to say goodbye. Someday it would indeed be time for me to say goodbye. Then someday, perhaps, someone would care to lay a blossom on my bosom, under my stone-grey epitaph, where I would perhaps lay cherishing my pause... forever...
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